Is  Polite  Society  Polite? 

And   Other   Essays 
BY 

MRS.  JULIA  WARD    HOWE 


BOSTON  &  NEW  YORK 
Lamson,  Wolffe,  &  Company 

1895 


Copyright,  1895, 
By  Lamson,  Wolffe,  &  Co. 


All  rights  reserved 


PS  "20)1 

In 

18313 

MA)isl 
Preface 

I  REMEMBER  that,  quite  late  in  the  fifties,  I  mentioned  to 
Theodore  Parker  the  desire  which  I  began  to  feel  to  give  liv 
ing  expression  to  my  thoughts,  and  to  lend  to  my  written  words 
the  interpretation  of  my  voice. 

Parker,  who  had  taken  a  friendly  interest  in  the  publication  of 
my  first  volumes,  "Passion  Flowers"  and  "Words  for  the 
Hour,"  gave  his  approval  also  to  this  new  project  of  mine. 
"  The  great  desire  of  the  age,"  he  said,  "  is  for  vocal  expression. 
People  are  scarcely  satisfied  with  the  printed  page  alone  :  they 
crave  for  their  instruction  the  living  voice  and  the  living  presence." 

At  the  time  of  which  I  write,  no  names  of  women  were  found 
in  the  lists  of  lecture  courses.      Lucy  Stone  had  graduated  from 
Oberlin,  and  was  beginning  to  be  known  as  an  advocate  of  tem 
perance,   and    as  an   antislavery  speaker.        Lucretia    Mott   had 
carried  her  eloquent  pleading  outside  the  limits  of  her  Quaker 
belonging.      Antoinette  Brown  Blackwell  occupied  the  pulpit  of  a 
Congregational  church,  while  Abby  Kelly  Foster  and  the  Grimke 
Sisters  stood  forth  as  strenuous  pleaders  for  the  abolition  of  sla 
very.    Of  these  ladies  I  knew  little  at  the  time  of  which  I  speak,-j 
and  my  studies  and  endeavors  occupied  a  field  remote  from  that  / 
in  which  they  fought  the  good  fight  of  faith.      My  thoughts  ran 
upon  the  importance  of  a  helpful  philosophy  of  life,  and  my  \ 
heart's  desire  was  to  assist  the  efforts  of  those  who  sought  for 
this  philosophy. 

Gradually  these  wishes  took  shape  in  some  essays,  which  I 
read  to  companies  of  invited  friends.  Somewhat  later,  I  entered 
the  lecture  field,  and  journeyed  hither  and  yon,  as  I  was  invited. 

The  papers  collected  in  the  present  volume  have  been  heard 
in  many  parts  of  our  vast  country.  As  is  evident,  they  have 


been  written  for  popular  audiences,  with  a  sense  of  the  limita 
tions  which  such  audiences  necessarily  impose.  With  the 
burthen  of  increasing  years,  the  freedom  of  locomotion  naturally 
tends  to  diminish,  and  I  must  be  thankful  to  be  read  where  I 
have  in  other  days  been  heard.  I  shall  be  glad  indeed  if  it  may 
be  granted  to  these  pages  to  carry  the  message  which  I  myself 
have  been  glad  to  bear,  —  the  message  of  the  good  hope  of 
humanity,  despite  the  faults  and  limitations  of  individuals. 

That  hope  casts  its  light  over  the  efforts  of  years  that  are 
past,  and  gilds  for  me,  with  ineffaceable  glow,  the  future  of  our 
race. 

The  lecture,  "Is  Polite  Society  Polite  ?"  was  written  for  a 
course  of  lectures  given  some  years  ago  by  the  New  England 
Women's  Club  of  Boston.  "  Greece  Revisited"  was  first  read 
before  the  Town  and  Country  Club  of  Newport,  R.  I.  ''Aris 
tophanes"  and  "Dante  and  Beatrice"  were  written  for  the 
Summer  School  of  Philosophy  at  Concord,  Mass.  "  The  Half- 
ness  of  Nature  "  was  first  read  before  the  Boston  Radical  Club. 
"The  Salon  in  America"  was  written  for  the  Contemporary 
Club  in  Philadelphia. 


Contents 

Preface 

Is  Polite  Society  Polite  Page  3 

Paris  37 

Greece  Revisited  77 

The  Salon  in  America  113 

Aristophanes  133 

The  Halfness  of  Nature  161 

Dante  and  Beatrice  181 


Is  Polite  Society  Polite? 


Is    Polite   Society    Polite? 

WHY  do  we  ask  this  question  ?  For  reasons 
which  I  shall  endeavor  to  make  evident. 

The  life  in  great  cities  awakens  a  multitude  of 
ambitions.  Some  people  are  very  unscrupulous  in 
following  these  ambitions,  attaining  their  object 
either  by  open  force  and  pushing,  or  by  artful  and 
cunning  manoeuvres.  And  so  it  will  happen  that 
in  the  society  which  considers  itself  entitled  to  rank 
above  all  other  circles  one  may  meet  with  people 
whose  behavior  is  guided  by  no  sincere  and  suffi 
cient  rule  of  conduct.  Observing  their  shortcom 
ings,  we  may  stand  still  and  ask,  Are  these  people 
what  they  should  be  ?  Is  polite  society  polite  ? 

For  this  society,  which  is  supposed  to  be  noth 
ing  if  not  polite,  does  assume,  in  every  place,  to 
set  up  the  standard  of  taste  and  to  regulate  the 
tone  of  manners.  It  aims  to  be  what  Hamlet  once 
was  in  Ophelia's  eyes  —  "the  glass  of  fashion  and 
the  mould  of  form."  Its  forms  and  fashions  change, 
of  course,  from  age  to  age,  and  yet  it  is  a  steadfast 
institution  in  the  development  of  human  civiliza 
tion. 

I  should  be  sorry  to  overstate  its  shortcomings, 
but  I  wish  I  might  help  it  to  feel  its  obligations 
and  to  fulfil  them. 


Is  Polite       What  shall  we  accept  in  the  ordinary  sense  of 
Society      men  as  politeness?     Shall  we  consider  it  a  mere 
Polite?     surface  polish  —  an   attitude   expressive  of  defer 
ence corresponding  to  no  inward  grace  of  good 

feeling?  Will  you  like  to  live  with  the  person 
who,  in  the  great  world,  can  put  on  fine  manners, 
but  who,  in  the  retirement  of  home,  manifests  the 
vulgarity  of  a  selfish  heart  and  an  undisciplined 
temper  ? 

No,  you  will  say ;  give  me  for  my  daily  com 
panions  those  who  always  wear  the  best  manners 
they  have.  For  manners  are  not  like  clothes  :  you 
can  mend  them  best  when  you  have  them  on. 

We  may  say  at  the  outset  that  sincerity  is  the 
best  foundation  upon  which  to  build  the  structure 
of  a  polite  life.  The  affectation  of  deference  does 
not  impose  upon  people  of  mature  experience.  It 
carries  its  own  contradiction  with  it.  When  I  hear 
the  soft  voice,  a  little  too  soft,  I  look  into  the  face 
to  see  whether  the  two  agree.  But  I  need  scarcely 
do  that.  The  voice  itself  tells  the  story,  is  sin 
cere  or  insincere.  Flattery  is,  in  itself,  an  offence 
against  politeness.  It  is  oftenest  administered  to 
people  who  are  already  suffering  the  intoxication  of 
vanity.  When  I  see  this,  I  wish  that  I  could 
enforce  a  prohibitory  ordinance  against  it,  and 
prosecute  those  who  use  it  mostly  to  serve  their 
own  selfish  purposes.  But  people  can  be  trained 
never  to  offer  nor  to  receive  this  dangerous  drug  of 
4 


flattery,  and  I  think  that,  in  all  society  which  can  Is  Polite 
be  called  good,  it  becomes  less  and  less  the  mode  Society 
to  flavor  one's  dishes  with  it.  Polite? 

Having  spoken  of  flattery,  I  am  naturally  led  to 
say  a  word  about  its  opposite,  detraction. 

The  French  have  a  witty  proverb  which  says 
that  "  the  absent  are  always  in  the  wrong/'  and 
which  means  that  the  blame  for  what  is  amiss  is 
usually  thrown  upon  those  who  are  not  present  to 
defend  themselves.  It  seems  to  me  that  the  rules 
of  politeness  are  to  be  as  carefully  observed  toward 
the  absent  as  toward  those  in  whose  company  we 
find  ourselves.  The  fact  that  they  cannot  speak 
in  their  own  defence  is  one  which  should  appeal  to 
our  nicest  sense  of  honor.  Good  breeding,  or  its 
reverse,  is  as  much  to  be  recognized  in  the  way  in 
which  people  speak  of  others  as  in  the  way  in 
which  they  speak  to  them. 

Have  we  not  all  felt  the  tone  of  society  to  be 
lowered  by  a  low  view  of  the  conduct  and  motives 
of  those  who  are  made  the  subjects  of  discussion  ? 

Those  unfortunate  men  and  women  who  delight 
in  talk  of  this  sort  always  appear  to  me  degraded 
by  it.  No  matter  how  clever  they  may  be,  I  avoid 
their  society,  which  has  in  it  a  moral  malaria  most 
unwholesome  in  character. 

I  am  glad  to  say  that,  although  frivolous  society 
constantly  shows  its  low  estimate  of  human  nature, 
I  yet  think  that  the  gay  immolation  of  character 

5 


Is  Polite  which  was  once  considered  a  legitimate  source  of 
Society      amusement   has  gone  somewhat    out    of  fashion. 
Polite?     Sheridan's  "School   for   Scandal"  gives   us   some 
notion  of  what  this  may  once  have  been.    I  do  think 
that  the  world  has  grown  more  merciful  in  later 
years,  and  that  even  people  who  meet  only  for  their 
own  amusement  are  learning  to  seek  it  without  mur 
dering  the  reputation  of  their  absent  friends. 

There  is  a  mean  impulse  in  human  nature  which 
leads  some  people  to  toss  down  the  reputation  of 
their  fellows  just  as  the  Wall  Street  bear  tosses  down 
the  value  of  the  investments  whose  purchase  he 
wishes  to  command  at  his  own  price.  But  in  oppo 
sition  to  this,  God  has  set  within  us  a  power  which 
reacts  against  such  base  estimates  of  mankind.  The 
utterance  of  this  false  tone  often  calls  out  the  better 
music,  and  makes  us  admire  the  way  in  which  good 
springs  up  in  the  very  footsteps  of  evil  and  effaces 
them  as  things  of  nought. 

Does  intercourse  with  great  society  make  us  more 
or  less  polite  ?  Elizabeth  Browning  says  :  — 

First  time  he  kissed  me  he  but  only  kissed 
The  fingers  of  this  hand  wherewith  I  write, 
Which  ever  thence  did  grow  more  clean  and  white, 
Slow  to  world  greetings,  quick  with  its  "  Oh,  list," 
When  the  angels  speak. 

This  clearly  expresses  the  sanctification  of  a  new 
and  noble  interest.     How  is  it  with  those  on  whom 
6 


the  great  world  has  set  its  seal  of  superior  position,  Is  Polite 
which  is  derived  from  a  variety  of  sources,  among  Society 
which  wealth,  recognized  talent,  and  high  descent  Polite? 
are  the  most  important  ? 

I  must  say  in  answer  that  this  social  recognition 
does  not  affect  all  people  in  the  same  manner. 
One  passes  the  ordeal  unscathed,  is  as  fresh  in  affec 
tion,  as  genuine  in  relation  and  intercourse,  as  faith 
ful  to  every  fine  and  true  personal  obligation  in  the 
fiery  furnace  of  wealth  and  fashion  and  personal  dis 
tinction  as  he  or  she  was  in  the  simple  village  or 
domestic  life,  in  which  there  was  no  question  of 
greatness  or  smallness,  all  being  of  nearly  the  same 
dimensions. 

The  great  world  may  boast  of  its  jewels  which 
no  furnace  blast  can  melt  or  dim,  but  they  are  rare. 
Madame  de  Stael  and  Madame  Recamier  seem  to 
have  been  among  these  undimmed  gems  ;  so,  also, 
was  Madame  de  Sevigne,  with  a  heart  warm  with 
love  for  her  children  and  her  friends  in  all  the 
dazzle  of  a  brilliant  court.  So  I  have  seen  a  ves 
sel  of  the  finest  glass,  thin  as  paper,  which  a 
chemist  left  over  his  spirit-lamp,  full  of  boiling 
liquid,  and,  returning  the  next  day,  found  unin 
jured,  so  perfect  was  the  temper  of  the  glass.  But 
for  one  such  unspoiled  world-favorite,  I  can  show 
you  twenty  men  and  women  who,  at  the  first  lift 
of  fortune,  forsake  their  old  friends,  neglect  their 
near  relations,  and  utterly  ignore  their  poor  ones. 

7 


Is  Polite       Romance  is  full  of  such  shameful  action  ;  and  let 
Society      me  say  here,  in  passing,  that  in  my  opinion   Ro- 
Polite  ?     mance  often  wears  off  our  horror  of  what  is  wicked 
and  heartless  by  showing  it  as  a  permanent  and  rec 
ognized  element  of  society.     This  is  the  reverse  of 
what  it  should  do.     But  in  these  days  it  so  exceeds 
its  office  in  the  hunt  after  the  exhausted  suscepti 
bilities   of  a    novel-reading  public    that    it    really 
thumps  upon  our  aversion  to  vice  until  it  wears 
it  out. 

De  Balzac's  novel  called  "  Father  Goriot "  tells 
the  story  of  a  man  of  humble  origin  who  grows 
rich  by  trade,  educates  his  daughters  for  fashion 
able  life,  marries  them  to  men  of  condition,  portions 
them  abundantly,  and  is  in  return  kept  carefully 
out  of  what  the  world  knows  of  their  lives.  They 
seek  him  only  when  they  want  money,  which  they 
always  do,  in  spite  of  the  rich  dowry  settled  on 
them  ^  at  their  marriage.  Father  Goriot  sells  his 
last  piece  of  silver  to  help  them,  and  dies  in  a  low 
boarding-house,  tended  by  the  charity  of  strangers, 
tormented  to  the  last  by  the  bickering  of  his  chil 
dren,  but  not  cheered  for  one  moment  by  their 
affection. 

I  have  heard  on  good  authority  that  people  of 
wealth  and  position  in  our  large  cities  sometimes 
deposit  their  aged  and  helpless  parents  in  asylums 
where  they  may  have  all  that  money  can  buy  for 
them,  but  nothing  of  what  gratitude  and  affection 
8 


should  give  them.     How  detestable  such  a  course  Is  Polite 
is  I  need  not  say ;  my  present  business  is  to  say  Society 
that  it  is  far  from  polite.  Polite? 

Apropos  of  this  suggestion,  I  remember  that  I 
was  once  invited  to  read  this  essay  to  a  village  audi 
ence  in  one  of  the  New  England  States.  My  theme 
was  probably  one  quite  remote  from  the  general 
thought  of  my  hearers.  As  I  went  on,  their  indif 
ference  began  to  affect  me,  and  my  thought  was  that 
I  might  as  well  have  appealed  to  a  set  of  wooden 
tenpins  as  to  those  who  were  present  on  that 
occasion. 

In  this,  I  afterwards  learned  that  I  was  mistaken. 
After  the  conclusion  of  the  evening's  exercise,  a 
young  man,  well  known  in  the  community,  was 
heard  to  inquire  urgently  where  he  could  find  the 
lecturer.  Friends  asked,  what  did  he  want  of  her  ? 
He  replied :  "  Well,  I  did  put  my  brother  in  the 
poorhouse,  and  now  that  I  have  heard  Mrs.  Howe, 
I  suppose  that  I  must  take  him  out." 

Need  I  say  that  I  felt  myself  amply  repaid  for  the 
trouble  I  had  taken  ?  On  the  other  hand,  this  same 
theme  was  once  selected  from  my  list  by  a  lecture 
association  in  a  small  town  buried  in  the  forests  of 
the  far  West.  As  I  surveyed  my  somewhat  home 
spun  audience,  I  feared  that  a  discussion  of  the 
faults  of  polite  society  would  interest  my  hearers 
very  little.  I  was  surprised  after  my  reading  to  hear, 
from  more  than  one  of  those  present,  that  this 

9 


Is  Polite  lecture  appeared  to  them  the  very  thing  that  was 

Society      most  needed  in  that  place. 

Polite?  There  is  to  my  mind  something  hideous  in  the 
concealment  and  disregard  of  real  connections  which 
involve  real  obligations. 

If  you  are  rich,  take  up  your  poor  relations. 
Assist  them  at  least  to  find  the  way  of  earning  a 
competence.  Use  the  power  you  have  to  bring  them 
within  the  sphere  of  all  that  is  refining.  You  can 
embellish  the  world  to  them  and  them  to  the  world. 
Do  so,  and  you  will  be  respected  by  those  whose 
respect  is  valuable.  On  the  contrary,  repudiate  those 
who  really  belong  to  you  and  the  mean  world  itself 
will  laugh  at  you  and  despise  you.  It  is  clever  and 
cunning  enough  to  find  out  your  secret,  and  when 
it  has  done  so,  it  will  expose  you  pitilessly. 

I  have  known  men  and  women  whose  endeavors 
and  successes  have  all  been  modelled  upon  the 
plane  of  social  ambition.  Starting  with  a  good  com 
mon-school  education,  which  is  a  very  good  thing 
to  start  with,  they  have  improved  opportunities  of 
culture  and  of  desirable  association  until  they  stand 
conspicuous,  far  away  from  the  sphere  of  their  vil 
lage  or  homemates,  having  money  to  spend,  able  to 
boast  of  wealthy  acquaintances,  familiar  guests  at 
fashionable  entertainments. 

Now  sometimes  these  individuals  wander  so  far 

away  from  their  original  belongings  that  these  latter 

are  easily  lost  sight  of.    And  I  assure  you  that  thev 

10  J 


are  left  in  the  dark,  in  so  far  as  concerns  the  actions  Is  Polite 
of  the  friends  we  are  now  considering.     Many  a  Society 
painstaking  mother  at  a  distance,  many  a  plain  but  Polite  ? 
honest  old  father,  many  a  sister  working  in  a  fac 
tory  to  help  a  brother  at  college,  is  never  spoken 
of  by  such  persons,  and  is  even  thought  of  with  a 
blush  of  shame  and  annoyance. 

Oh  !  shame  upon  the  man  or  woman  of  us  who 
is  guilty  of  such  behavior  as  this  !  These  relatives 
are  people  to  be  proud  of,  as  we  should  know  if  we 
had  the  heart  to  know  what  is  true,  good,  and  loyal. 
Even  were  it  not  so,  were  your  relative  a  criminal, 
never  deny  the  bond  of  nature.  Stand  beside  him 
in  the  dock  or  at  the  gallows.  You  have  illustrious 
precedent  for  such  association  in  one  whom  men 
worship,  but  forget  to  imitate. 

Let  me  here  relate  a  little  story  of  my  early  years. 
I  had  a  nursery  governess  when  I  was  a  small  child. 
She  came  from  some  country  town,  and  probably 
regarded  her  position  in  my  father's  family  as  a  pro 
motion.  One  evening,  while  we  little  folks  gath 
ered  about  her  in  our  nursery,  she  wept  bitterly. 
"  What  is  the  matter  ?  "  we  asked  ;  and  she  took 
me  up  in  her  lap,  and  said :  "  My  poor  old  father 
came  here  to  see  me  to-day,  and  I  would  not  see 
him.  I  bade  them  tell  him  that  he  had  mistaken 
the  house,  and  he  went  away,  and  as  he  went  I  saw 
him  looking  up  at  the  windows  so  wistfully  ! " 
Poor  woman  !  We  wept  with  her,  feeling  that  this 

ii 


Is  Polite  was  indeed  a  tragical  event,  and  not  knowing  what 

Society      she  could  do  to  make  it  better. 

Polite?  But  could  I  see  that  woman  now,  I  would  say  to 
her :  "  If  you  were  serving  the  king  at  his  table,  and 
held  his  wine-cup  in  your  hand,  and  your  father 
stood  without,  asking  for  you,  you  should  set  down 
the  cup,  and  go  out  from  the  royal  presence  to 
honor  your  father,  so  much  the  more  if  he  is  poor, 
so  much  the  more  if  he  is  old."  And  all  that  is 
really  polite  in  polite  society  would  say  so  too. 

Now  this  action  which  I  report  of  my  governess 
corresponds  to  something  in  human  nature,  and 
to  something  which  polite  society  fosters. 

For  polite  society  bases  itself  upon  exclusions. 
In  this  it  partly  appeals  to  that  antagonism  of  our 
nature  through  which  the  desire  to  possess  some 
thing  is  greatly  exaggerated  by  the  difficulty  of  be 
coming  possessed  of  it.  If  every  one  can  come  to 
your  house,  no  one,  you  think,  will  consider  it  a 
great  object  of  desire  to  go  there.  Theories  of  sup 
ply  and  demand  come  in  here.  People  would  gladly 
destroy  things  that  give  pleasure,  in  order  to  en 
hance  their  value  in  the  hands  of  the  few. 

I  once  heard  a  lady,  herself  quite  new  in  society, 
say  of  a  Parisian  dame  who  had  shown  her  some 

attention:  "Ah!  the  trouble  with   Madame 

is  that  she  is  too  good-natured.      She  entertains 
everybody."      "Indeed,"  thought  I,  "if  she  had 


12 


been  less  good-natured,  is  it  certain  that  she  would  Is  Polite 
have  entertained  you  ?  "  Society 

But  of  course  the  justifiable  side  of  exclusion  is  Polite? 
choice,  selection  of  one's  associates.  No  society 
can  confer  the  absolute  right  or  power  to  make  this 
selection.  Tiresome  and  unacceptable  people  are 
everywhere  entangled  in  relations  with  wise  and 
agreeable  ones.  There  is  no  bore  nor  torment 
who  has  not  the  right  to  incommode  some  fireside 
or  assembly  with  his  or  her  presence.  You  cannot 
keep  wicked,  foolish,  tiresome,  ugly  people  out  of 
society,  however  you  and  your  set  may  delight  in 
good  conduct,  grace,  and  beauty.  You  cannot 
keep  poor  people  out  of  the  society  of  the  rich. 
Those  whom  you  consider  your  inferiors  feed  your 
cherished  stomach,  and  drape  your  sacred  person, 
and  stand  behind  your  chair  at  your  feasts,  judging 
your  manners  and  conversation. 

Let  us  remember  Mr.  Dickens's  story  of  "Little 
Dorrit,"  in  which  Mr.  Murdle^  a  new-rich  man,  sit 
ting  with  guests  at  his  own  sumptuous  table,  is 
described  as  dreading  the  disapprobation  of  his 
butler.  This  he  might  well  do,  as  the  butler  was 
an  expert,  well  aware  of  the  difference  between  a 
gentleman  of  breeding  and  education  and  a  world 
ling,  lifted  by  the  possession  of  wealth  alone. 

Very  genial  in  contrast  with  this  picture  appears 
the  response  of  Abraham  Lincoln,  who,  on  being 

'3 


Is  Polite  asked  by  the  head  waiter  at  his  first  state  dinner 
Society  whether  he  would  take  white  wine  or  red,  replied : 
Polite?  "  I  don't  know  ;  which  would  you  ?  " 

Well,  what  can  society  do,  then  ?  It  can  decree 
that  those  who  come  of  a  certain  set  of  families, 
that  those  who  have  a  certain  education,  and  above 
all,  a  certain  income,  shall  associate  together  on 
terms  of  equality.  And  with  this  decree  there  comes 
to  foolish  human  nature  a  certain  irrational  desire  to 
penetrate  the  charmed  circle  so  formed. 

The  attempt  to  do  this  encounters  resistance ; 
there  is  pushing  in  and  shoving  out,  —  coaxing 
and  wheedling  on  the  one  hand,  and  cold  denial  or 
reluctant  assent  on  the  other.  So  a  fight  is  perpetu 
ally  going  on  in  the  realm  of  fashion.  Those  not 
yet  recognized  are  always  crowding  in.  Those  first 
in  occupation  are  endeavoring  to  crowd  these  out. 
In  the  end,  perseverance  usually  conquers. 

But  neither  of  these  processes  is  polite  —  neither 
the  crowding  in  nor  the  crowding  out — and  this  last 
especially,  as  many  of  those  who  are  in  were  once 
out,  and  are  trying  to  keep  other  people  from  doing 
what  they  themselves  have  been  very  glad  to  do. 
In  Mr.  Thackeray's  great  romance,  "The  New- 
comes,"  young  Ethel  Newcome  asks  her  grand 
mother,  Lady  Kew,  "Well  then,  grandmother,  who 
is  of  a  good  family  ?  "  And  the  old  lady  replies  : 
c  Well,  my  dear,  mostly  no  one."  But  I  would 


reply :  Mostly  every  one,  if  people  are  disposed  to  Is  Polite 
make  their  family  good.  Society 

There  is  an  obvious  advantage  in  society's  pos-  Polite? 
session  of  a  recognized  standard  of  propriety  in 
general  deportment ;  but  the  law  of  good  breeding 
should  nowhere  be  merely  formal,  nor  should  its 
application  be  petty  and  captious.  The  externals 
of  respectability  are  most  easily  aped  when  they  are 
of  the  permanent  and  stereotyped  kind,  and  may  be 
used  to  conceal  gross  depravity  ;  while  the  constant, 
fresh,  gracious  inspiration  of  a  pure,  good  heart  is 
unmistakable,  and  cannot  be  successfully  coun 
terfeited. 

On  the  other  hand,  young  persons  should  be  de 
sirous  to  learn  the  opinion  of  older  ones  as  to 
what  should  and  should  not  be  done  on  the  ground 
of  general  decorum  and  good  taste.  Youth  is  in 
such  hot  haste  to  obtain  what  it  desires  that  it  often 
will  not  wait  to  analyze  the  spirit  of  an  occasion,  but 
classes  opposition  to  its  inclinations  as  prejudice 
and  antiquated  superstition.  But  the  very  individ 
ual  who  in  youth  thus  scoffs  at  restraint  often  pays 
homage  to  it  in  later  days,  having  meanwhile  ascer 
tained  the  weighty  reasons  which  underlie  the  whole 
law  of  reserve  upon  which  the  traditions  of  good 
society  are  based. 

How  much  trouble,  then,  might  it  save  if  the 
young  people,  as  a  rule,  were  to  come  to  the  elders 

'5 


Is  Polite  and  ask  at  least  why  this  thing  or  that  is  regarded 
Society      as  unbecoming  or  of  doubtful  propriety.    And  how 
Polite?     much  would  it  assist  this  good  understanding  if  the 
elders,  to  the  last,  were  careful  to  keep  up  with  the 
progress  of  the  time,  examining  tendencies,  keeping 
a  vigilant  eye  upon  fashions,  books,  and  personages, 
and,  above  all,  encouraging  the  young  friends  to 
exercise  their  own  powers  of  discrimination  in  fol 
lowing  usages  and  customs,  or  in  departing  from 
them. 

This  last  suggestion  marks  how  far  the  writer  of 
these  pages  is  behind  the  progress  of  the  age.  In 
her  youth,  it  was  customary  for  sons  and  daughters 
both  to  seek  and  to  heed  the  counsel  of  elders  in 
social  matters.  In  these  days,  a  grandmother  must 
ask  her  granddaughter  whether  such  or  such  a  thing 
is  considered  "  good  form,"  to  which  the  latter  will 
often  reply,  "  O  dear  !  no." 

It  is  sad  that  we  should  carry  all  the  barbarism 
of  our  nature  into  our  views  of  the  divine,  and  make 
pur  form  of  faith  an  occasion  of  ill-will  to  others, 
instead  of  drawing  from  it  the  inspiration  of  a  wide 
and  comprehensive  charity.  The  world's  Chris 
tianity  is  greatly  open  to  this  accusation,  in  dealing 
with  which  we  are  forced  to  take  account  of  the  slow 
rate  of  human  progress. 

A  friend  lately  told  me  of  a  pious  American, 
familiar  in  Hong  Kong,  who  at  the  close  of  his  last 

16 


visit  there,  took  a  formal  and  eternal  leave  of  one  Is  Polite 
of  the  principal  native  merchants  with  whom  he  had  Society 

long  been  acquainted.      Mr.  C alluded  to  his  Polite? 

advanced  age,  and  said  that  it  was  almost  certain  he 
could  never  return  to  China.  "  We  shall  not  meet 
again  in  this  work!  "  he  said,  "  and  as  you  have 
never  embraced  the  true  reLgion,  I  can  have  no  hope 
of  meeting  you  in  a  better  one." 

I  ask  whether  this  was  polite,  from  one  sinner  to 
another  ? 

A  stupid,  worldly  old  woman  of  fashion  in  one  of 
our  large  cities  once  said  of  a  most  exemplary 
acquaintance,  a  liberal  Christian  saint  of  thirty  years 

or  more  ago  :    "  I  am  very  fond  of  Mrs.  S 

but  she  is  a  Unitarian.  What  a  pity  we  cannot  hope 
to  meet  in  heaven  !  "  The  wicked  bystanders  had 
their  own  view  of  the  reason  why  this  meeting  would 
appear  very  improbable. 

What  shall  we  say  of  the  hospitality  which  in 
some  churches  renders  each  man  and  woman  the 
savage  guardian  of  a  seat  or  pew?  Is  this  God's 
house  to  you,  when  you  turn  with  fury  on  a  stranger 
who  exercises  a  stranger's  right  to  its  privileges  ? 
Whatever  may  be  preached  from  the  pulpit  of  such 
a  church,  there  is  not  much  of  heaven  in  the  seats 
so  maintained  and  defended.  I  remember  an  Epis 
copal  church  in  one  of  our  large  cities  which  a  mod 
est  looking  couple  entered  one  Sunday,  taking  seats 
in  an  unoccupied  pew  near  the  pulpit.  And  pres- 


Is  Polite  ently  comes  in  the  plumed  head  of  the  family,  fol- 
Society      lowed  by  its  other  members.      The  strangers  are 
Polite?     warned    to   depart,  which  they  do,  not  without  a 
smile  of  suppressed    amusement.       The    church- 
woman  afterwards  learned  that  the  persons  whom 
she  had  turned  out  of  her  pew  were  the  English 
ambassador  and  his  wife,  the  accomplished  Lord 
and  Lady  Napier. 

St.  Paul  tells  us  that  in  an  unknown  guest  we 
may  entertain  an  angel  unawares.  But  I  will  say 
that  in  giving  way  to  such  evil  impulses,  people 
entertain  a  devil  unawares. 

Polite  religion  has  to  do  both  with  manners  and 
with  doctrine.  Tolerance  is  the  external  condition 
of  this  politeness,  but  charity  is  its  interior  source. 
A  doctrine  which  allows  and  encourages  one  set  of 
men  to  exclude  another  set  from  claim  to  the  pro 
tection  and  inspiration  of  God  is  in  itself  impolite. 
Christ  did  not  reproach  the  Jews  for  holding  their 
own  tenets,  but  for  applying  these  tenets  in  a  super 
ficial  and  narrow  spirit,  neglecting  to  practise  true 
devotion  and  benevolence,  and  refusing  to  learn 
the  providential  lessons  which  the  course  of  time 
should  have  taught  them.  At  this  day  of  the  world, 
we  should  all  be  ready  to  admit  that  salvation  lies1 
not  so  much  in  the  prescriptions  of  any  religion 
as  in  the  spirit  in  which  these  are  followed. 

It  is  the  fashion  to-day  to  decry  missions.     I  be 
lieve  in  them  greatly.     But  a  missionary  should 
1 8 


start  with  a  polite  theory  concerning  the  religion  Is  Polite 
which  he  hopes  to  supersede  by  the  introduction  of  Society 
one  more  polite.     If  he  studies  rightly,  he  will  see  Polite? 
that  all  religions  seek  after  God,  and  will  imitate 
the  procedure  of  Paul,  who,  before  instructing  the 
Athenians  in  the  doctrines  of  the  new  religion,  was 
careful  to  recognize  the  fact  that  they  had  a  religion 
of  their  own. 

I  wish  to  speak  here  of  the  so-called  rudeness  of 
reform  ;  and  to  say  that  I  think  we  should  call  this 
roughness  rather  than  rudeness.  A  true  reformer 
honors  human  nature  by  recognizing  in  it  a  higher 
power  than  is  shown  in  its  average  action.  The  man 
or  woman  who  approaches  you,  urging  upon  you  a 
more  fervent  faith,  a  more  impartial  justice,  a  braver 
resolve  than  you  find  in  your  own  mind,  comes  to 
you  really  in  reverence,  and  not  in  contempt.  Such 
a  person  sees  in  you  the  power  and  dignity  of  man 
hood  or  womanhood,  of  which  you,  perhaps,  have 
an  insufficient  sense.  And  he  will  strike  and  strike 
until  he  finds  in  you  that  better  nature,  that  higher 
sense  to  which  he  appeals,  and  which  in  the  end  is 
almost  sure  to  respond  to  such  appealing. 

I  remember  having  thought  in  my  youth  that  the 
Presbyterian  preacher,  John  Knox,  was  probably 
very  impolite  in  his  sermons  preached  before  poor 
Queen  Mary  Stuart.  But  when  we  reflect  upon  the 
follies  which,  more  than  aught  else,  wrecked  her 
unhappy  life,  we  may  fancy  the  stern  divine  to  have 

'9 


Is  Polite  seen  whither  her  love  of  pleasure  and  ardent  tem- 

Society      perament  would  lead  her,  and  to  have  striven,  to  the 

Polite  ?     best  of  his  knowledge  and  power,  to  pluck  her  as  a 

brand  from  the  burning,  and  to  bring  her  within  the 

sober  sphere  of  influence  and  reflection  which  might 

have  saved  her  kingdom  and  her  life. 

With  all  its  advances,  society  still  keeps  some 
traces  of  its  original  barbarism.  I  see  these  traces 
in  the  want  of  respect  for  labor,  where  this  want 
exists,  and  also  in  the  position  which  mere  Fashion 
is  apt  to  assign  to  teachers  in  the  community. 

That  those  who  must  be  intellectually  looked  up 
to  should  be  socially  looked  down  upon  is,  to  say 
the  least,  very  inconsistent.  That  the  performance 
of  the  helpful  offices  of  the  household  should  be 
held  as  degrading  to  those  who  perform  them  is  no 
less  so.  We  must  seek  the  explanation  of  these 
anomalies  in  the  distant  past.  When  the  handiwork 
of  society  was  performed  by  slaves,  the  world's 
estimate  of  labor  was  naturally  lowered.  In  the 
feudal  and  military  time,  the  writer  ranked  below 
the  fighter,  and  the  skill  of  learning  below  the  prow 
ess  of  arms.  The  mind  of  to-day  has  only  partially 
outgrown  this  very  rude  standard  of  judgment.  I 
was  asked,  some  fifteen  years  ago,  in  England, 
*  by  people  of  education,  whether  women  teachers 
ranked  in  America  with  ladies  or  with  working 
women.  I  replied  :  "  With  ladies,  certainly,"  which 
seemed  to  occasion  surprise. 
20 


I  remember  having  heard  that  a  relative  of  The-  Is  Polite 
odore  Parker's  wife,  who  disliked  him,  would  occa-  Society 
sionally  taunt  him  with  having  kept  school.      She  Polite? 
said  to  him  one  day  :  "  My  father  always  told  me  to 
avoid  a  schoolmaster."     Parker  replied  :  "  It  is  evi 
dent  that  you  have." 

I  think  that  as  Americans  we  should  all  feel  an 
especial  interest  in  the  maintenance  of  polite  feel 
ing  in  our  community.  The  theory  of  a  govern 
ment  of  the  people,  by  the  people,  and  for  the 
people  is  in  itself  the  most  polite  of  theories. 
The  fact  that  under  such  a  government  no  man  has 
a  position  of  absolute  inferiority  forced  upon  him 
for  life  ought  to  free  us  from  mean  subserviency 
on  the  one  hand,  and  from  haughty  and  brutal 
assumption  on  the  other. 

Yet  I  doubt  whether  politeness  is  as  much  con 
sidered  in  American  education  as  it  ought  to  be. 
Perhaps  our  theory  of  the  freedom  and  equality  of 
all  men  leads  some  of  us  to  the  mistaken  conclusion 
that  all  people  equally  know  how  to  behave  them 
selves,  which  is  far  from  being  the  fact. 

One  result  of  our  not  being  well  instructed  in 
the  nature  of  politeness  is  that  we  go  to  the  wrong 
sources  to  learn  it.  People  who  have  been  mod 
estly  bred  think  they  shall  acquire  fine  manners  by 
consorting  with  the  world's  great  people,  and  in 
this  way  often  unlearn  what  they  already  know  of 
good  manners,  instead  of  adding  to  their  knowledge. 

21 


Is  Polite  Rich  Americans  seem  latterly  to  have  taken  on  a 
Society  sort  of  craze  about  the  aristocracies  of  other  coun- 
Polite?  tries.  One  form  of  this  craze  is  the  desire  of  Am 
bitious  parents  to  marry  their  daughters  to  titled 
individuals  abroad.  When  we  consider  ^that  these 
counts,  marquises,  and  barons  scarcely  disguise  the 
fact  that  the  young  lady's  fortune  is  the  object  of 
their  pursuit,  and  that  the  young  lady  herself  is 
generally  aware  of  this,  we  shall  not  consider 
marriage  under  such  circumstances  a  very  polite 
relation. 

What  does  make  our  people  polite,  then  ? 
Partly  the  inherited  blood  of  men  who  would  not 
submit  to  the  rude  despotism  of  old  England  and 
old  Europe,  and  who  thought  a  better  state  of  so 
ciety  worth  a  voyage  in  the  Mayflower  and  a  tussle 
with  the  wild  forest  and  wilder  Indian.  Partly, 
also,  the  necessity  of  the  case.  As  we  recognize  no 
absolute  social  superiority,  no  one  of  us  is  entirely 
at  liberty  to  assume  airs  of  importance  which  do 
not  belong  to  him.  No  matter  how  selfish  we  may 
be,  it  will  not  do  for  us  to  act  upon  the  supposition 
that  the  comfort  of  other  people  is  of  less  conse 
quence  than  our  own.  If  we  are  rude,  our  servants 
will  not  live  with  >us,  our  tradespeople  will  not 
serve  us. 

This  is  good  as  far  as  it  goes,  but  I  wish  that  I 
could  oftemer  see  in  our  young  people  a  desire  to 
know  what  is  perfectly  and  beautifully  polite.     And 
22 


I  feel  sure  that  more  knowledge  in  this  direction  Is  Polite 
would  save  us  from  the  vulgarity  of  worshipping  Society 
rank  and  wealth.  Polite  ? 

Who  have  been  the  polite  spirits  of  our  day  ? 
I  can  mention  two  of  them,  Mr.  Longfellow  and 
Mr.  Emerson,  as  persons  in  whose  presence  it  was 
impossible  to  be  rude.  But  our  young  people  of 
to-day  consider  the  great  fortunes  rather  than  the 
great  examples. 

In  order  to  be  polite,  it  is  important  to  cultivate 
polite  ways  of  thinking.  Great  social  troubles  and 
even  crimes  grow  out  of  rude  and  selfish  habits  of 
mind.  Let  us  take  the  case  of  the  Anarchists  who 
were  executed  in  Chicago  some  years  ago.  Before 
their  actions  became  wicked,  their  thoughts  became 
very  impolite.  They  were  men  who  had  to  work 
for  their  living.  They  wanted  to  be  so  rich  that 
they  should  not  be  under  this  necessity.  Their 
mode  of  reasoning  was  something  like  this  :  "  I 
want  money.  Who  has  got  it  ?  The  capitalist. 
What  protects  him  in  keeping  it  ?  The  laws. 
Down  with  the  laws,  then  !  " 

He  who  reasons  thus  forgets,  foolish  man,  that 
the  laws  protect  the  poor  as  well  as  the  rich.  The 
laws  compel  the  capitalist  to  make  roads  for  the 
use  of  the  poor  man,  and  to  build  schoolhouses  for 
the  education  of  his  children.  They  make  the  per 
son  of  the  poor  man  as  sacred  as  that  of  the  rich 
man.  They  secure  to  both  the  enjoyment  of  the 


Is  Polite  greatest  benefits  of  civilization.      The    Anarchist 

Society      puts  all  this  behind  him,  and  only  reasons  that  he, 

Polite?     being  poor,  wants  to  be  rich,  and  will  overthrow,  if 

he  can,  the  barriers  which  keep  him  from  rushing 

like  a  wild  beast  upon  the  rich  man  and  despoiling 

him  of  his  possessions. 

And  this  makes  me  think  of  that  noble  man 
Socrates,  whom  the  Athenians  sentenced  to  death 
for  impiety,  because  he  taught  that  there  was  one 
God,  while  the  people  about  him  worshipped  many 
deities.  Some  of  the  friends  of  this  great  man 
made  a  plan  for  his  escape  from  prison  to  a  place 
of  safety.  But  Socrates  refused  to  go,  saying  that 
the  laws  had  hitherto  protected  him  as  they  pro 
tected  other  citizens,  and  that  it  would  be  very  un 
grateful  for  him  to  show  them  the  disrespect  of 
running  away  to  evade  their  sentence.  He  said : 
"It  is  better  for  me  to  die  than  to  set  the  example 
of  disrespect  to  the  laws."  How  noble  were  these 
sentiments,  and  how  truly  polite ! 

Whoever  brings  up  his  children  to  be  sincere, 
self-respecting,  and  considerate  of  others  brings 
them  up  to  good  manners.  Did  you  ever  see  an 
impolite  Quaker  ?  I  never  did.  Yet  the  Friends 
are  a  studiously  plain  people,  no  courtiers  nor  fre 
quenters  of  great  entertainments.  What  makes 
them  polite  ?  The  good  education  and  discipline 
which  are  handed  down  among  them  from  one  gen 
eration  to  another. 
24 


The  eminent  men  of  our  own  early  society  were  Is  Polite 
simple  in  their  way  of  living,  but  when  public  duty  Society 
called  them  abroad  to  mingle  with  the  elegant  peo-  Polite  ? 
pie  of  the  Old  World,  they  did  us  great  credit. 
Benjamin  Franklin  was  much  admired  at  the  court 
of  Louis  XVI.     Jay  and  Jefferson  and  Morris  and 
Adams  found  their  manners  good  enough  to  con 
tent  the  highest    European   society.      They  were 
educated  men ;  but  besides  book-learning,  and  above 
it,  they  had  been  bred  to  have  the  thoughts  and, 
more  than  all,  the  feelings  of  gentlemen. 

The  assumption  of  special  merit,  either  by  an 
individual  or  a  class,  is  not  polite.  We  notice  this 
fault  when  some  dressy  young  lady  puts  on  airs, 
and  struts  in  fine  clothes,  or  condescends  from  an 
elegant  carriage.  Elder  women  show  it  in  hard 
ness  and  hauteur  of  countenance,  or  in  unnecessary 
patronage. 

But  we  allow  classes  of  people  to  assume  special 
merit  on  false  grounds.  It  may  very  easily  be 
shown  that  it  requires  more  talent  and  merit  to 
earn  money  than  to  spend  it.  Yet,  by  almost 
common  consent  of  the  fashionable  world,  those 
who  inherit  or  marry  money  are  allowed  to  place 
themselves  above  those  who  earn  it. 

If  this  is  the  case  so  far  as  men  are  concerned, 
much  more  is  it  the  case  with  women.  Good 
society  often  feels  itself  obliged  to  apologize  for  a 
lady  who  earns  money.  The  fact,  however  ex- 


Is  Polite  plained,  is  a  badge  of  discredit.     She   could    not 

Society      help  it,  poor  thing!      Her   father  failed,   or  her 

Polite?     trustee  lost  the  investments  made  for  her.     He 

usually  does.     So  she  has  —  oh,  sad  alternative  !  — 

to  make  herself  useful. 

Now  in  America  the  judgment  of  the  Old  World 
in  this  respect  has  come  to  be  somewhat  reversed. 
We  do  not  like  idle  inheritors  here ;  and  so  the 
moneyed  aristocracy  of  our  country  is  a  tolerably 
energetic  and  industrious  body.  But  in  the  case 
of  womankind,  I  could  wish  to  see  a  very  different 
standard  adopted  from  that  now  existing.  I  could 
\j  wish  that  the  fact  of  an  idle  and  useless  life  should 
need  apology  —  not  that  of  a  laborious  and  useful 
one.  Idleness  is  a  pregnant  source  of  demoraliza 
tion  to  rich  women.  The  hurry  and  excitement  of 
fashionable  engagements,  and  the  absorbing  nature 
of  entirely  selfish  and  useless  pursuits,  such  as 
dancing,  dress,  and  flirtation,  cannot  take  the  place 
of  healthful  work.  Dr.  Watts  warns  us  that 

Satan  finds  some  mischief  still 
For  idle  hands  to  do. 

And  Tennyson  has  some  noble  lines  in  one  of  his 
noblest  poems  :  — 

I  know  you,  Clara  Vere  de  Vere, 
You  pine  among  your  halls  and  towers  ; 
The  languid  light  of  your  proud  eyes 
Is  wearied  of  the  rolling  hours. 
In  glowing  health,  with  boundless  wealth, 
26 


But  sickening  of  a  vague  disease,  /j  Polite 

You  know  so  ill  to  deal  with  time,  Society 

You  needs  must  play  such  pranks  as  these.  p  /'/    P 

As  I  am  speaking  of  England,  I  will  say  that 
some  things  in  the  constitution  of  English  society 
seem  to  tend  to  impoliteness. 

The  English  are  a  most  powerful  and  energetic 
race,  with  immense  vitality,  cruelly  divided  up  in 
their  own  country  by  absolute  social  conditions, 
handed  down  from  generation  to  generation.  So 
a  sense  of  superiority,  more  or  less  lofty  and  ex 
aggerated,  characterizes  the  upper  classes,  while  the 
lower  partly  rest  in  a  dogged  compliance,  partly 
indulge  the  blind  instinct  of  reverence,  partly  de 
test  and  despise  those  whom  birth  and  fate  have  set 
over  them.  In  England,  people  assert  their  own 
rank  and  look  down  upon  that  of  others  all  the 
way  from  the  throne  to  the  peasant's  hut.  I  asked 
an  English  visitor,  the  other  day,  what  inferior  the 
lowest  man  had,  —  the  man  at  the  bottom  of  the 
social  pile.  I  answered  him  myself:  "  His  wife,  of 
course." 

Where  worldliness  gives  the  tone  to  character,  it 
corrupts  the  source  of  good  manners,  and  the  out 
ward  polish  is  purchased  by  the  inward  corruption 
of  the  heart.  The  crucial  experiment  of  character 
is  found  in  the  transition  from  modest  competency 
to  conspicuous  wealth  and  fashion.  Most  of  us 
may  desire  this  ;  but  I  should  rather  say  :  Dread  it. 

27 


Is  Polite  I  have  seen  such  sweetness  and  beauty  impaired  by 
Society      the  process,  such  relinquishment  of  the  genuine, 
Polite?     such    gradual    adoption    of    the    false    and    mere 
tricious  ! 

Such  was  a  house  in  which  I  used  to  meet  all 
the  muses  of  the  earlier  time,  —  in  which  economy 
was  elegant ;  frugality,  tasteful  and  thrifty.  My 
heart  recalls  the  golden  hours  passed  there,  the 
genial,  home  atmosphere,  the  unaffected  music,  the 
easy,  brilliant  conversation.  Time  passes.  A  or 
B  is  the  head  of  a  great  mercantile  house  now.  I 
meet  him  after  a  lapse  of  years.  He  is  always 
genial,  and  pities  all  who  are  not  so  rich  as  he  is. 
But  when  I  go  to  his  great  feast,  I  pity  him.  All 
the  tiresome  and  antiquated  furniture  of  fashion 
able  society  fills  his  rooms.  Those  empty  bores 
whom  I  remember  in  my  youth,  and  many  new 
ones  of  their  kind,  float  their  rich  clothing  through 
his  rooms.  The  old  good-hearted  greeting  is  re 
placed  by  the  distant  company  bow.  The  mod 
erate  banquet,  whose  special  dishes  used  to  have 
the  care  of  the  young  hostess,  is  replaced  by  a 
grand  confectioner's  avalanche,  cold,  costly,  and 
comfortless.  And  I  sigh,  and  go  home  feeling,  as 
Browning  says,  "chilly  and  grown  old." 

This  is  not  one  case,  but  many.     And  since  I 
have  observed  this  page  of  human  experience,  I 
say  to  all  whom  I  love  and-  who  are  in  danger  of 
28 


becoming  very  wealthy :    Do  not,  oh  !    do  not  be  Is  Polite 
too  fashionable.     "  Love  not  the  world/*  Society 

Most  of  us  know  the  things  men  really  say  to  Polite? 
us  beneath  the  disguise  of  the  things  they  seem  to 
say.  And  So-and-So,  taking  my  hand,  expresses 
to  me :  "  How  much  more  cordial  should  I  be  to 
you  if  your  father's  real  estate  had  not  been  sold 
off  before  the  rise."  And  such  another  would,  if 
he  could,  say :  "  I  am  really  surprised  to  see  you 
at  this  house,  and  in  such  good  clothes.  Pray 
have  you  any  income  that  I  don't  happen  to  know 
about  ?  "  The  tax-gatherer  is  not  half  so  vigilant 
about  people's  worldly  goods  as  these  friends  are. 
No  matter  how  they  bow  and  smile,  their  real  im 
politeness  everywhere  penetrates  its  thin  disguise. 

What  is  this  impoliteness  ?  To  what  is  it 
shown?  To  God's  image,  —  the  true  manhood 
and  true  womanhood,  which  you  may  strip  or 
decorate,  but  which  you  cannot  destroy.  Human 
values  cannot  be  raised  or  lowered  at  will.  "  Thou 
canst  not,  by  taking  thought,  add  one  cubit  to  thy 
stature."  I  derive  impoliteness  from  two  sources, — 
indifference  to  the  divine,  and  contempt  for  the 
human. 

The  king  of  Wall  Street,  some  little  time  since, 
was  a  man  who  had  risen  from  a  humble  beginning 
to  the  eminence  of  a  successful  stock-gambler.  He 
had  been  fortunate  and  perhaps  skilful  in  his  play, 

29 


Is  Polite  and  was  supposed  to  be  possessed  of  immense 
Society  wealth.  Immediately,  every  door  was  opened  to 
Polite?  him.  No  assemblage  was  perfect  without  him. 
Every  designing  mother  wanted  him  for  her  son- 
in-law.  One  unlucky  throw  overturned  all  this. 
Down  went  his  fortune ;  down,  his  eminence.  No 
more  bowing  and  cringing  and  smiling  now. 
No  more  plotting  against  his  celibacy  —  he  was 
welcome  to  it.  No  more  burthensome  hospitality. 
He  was  dropped  as  coldly  and  selfishly  as  he  was 
taken  up,  —  elbowed  aside,  left  out  in  the  cold. 
When  I  heard  of  all  this,  I  said:  "Is  it  ever 
necessary  in  these  times  to  preach  about  the  mean 
ness  of  the  great  world  ?  " 

Let  us,  in  our  new  world,  lay  aside  altogether 
the  theory  of  human  superiority  as  conferred  by 
special  birth  or  fortune.  Let  us  recognize  in  all 
people  human  right,  capacity,  and  dignity. 

Having  adopted  this  equal  human  platform,  and 
with  it  the  persuasion  that  the  society  of  good 
people  is  always  good  society,  let  us  organize  our 
circles  by  real  tastes  and  sympathies.  Those  who 
love  art  can  follow  it  together;  those  who  love 
business,  and  science,  and  theology,  and  belles- 
lettres,  can  group  themselves  harmoniously  around 
the  object  which  especially  attracts  them. 

But  people  shall,  in  this  new  order,  seek  to  fill 
their  own  place  as  they  find  it.     No  crowding  up 
or  down,  or  in  or  out.     A  quiet  reference  to  the 
30 


standard  of  education  and  to  the  teachings  of  Na-  Is  Polite 
ture  will  show  each  one  where  he  belongs.     Reli-  Society 
gion  shall  show  the  supreme  source  of  power  and  of  Polite? 
wisdom  near  to  all  who  look  for  it.     And  this  final 
unity  of  the  religious  sense  shall  knit  together  the 
happy  human  variety  into  one  great  complex  inter 
est,  one  steadfast  faith,  one  harmonious  effort. 

The  present  essay,  I  must  say,  was  written  in 
great  part  for  this  very  society  which,  assuming  to 
take  the  lead  in  social  attainment,  often  falls  lament 
ably  short  of  its  promise.  But  let  us  enlarge  the 
ground  of  our  remarks  by  a  more  general  view  of 
American  society. 

I  have  travelled  in  this  country  North  and 
South,  East  and  West.  I  have  seen  many  varie 
ties  of  our  national  life.  I  think  that  I  have  seen 
everywhere  the  capacity  for  social  enjoyment.  In 
many  places,  I  have  found  the  notion  of  co-opera 
tion  for  good  ends,  which  is  a  most  important  ele 
ment  in  any  society.  What  I  have  seen  makes  me 
think  that  we  Americans  start  from  a  vantage- 
ground  compared  with  other  nations.  As  mere 
social  units,  we  are  ranked  higher  than  Britons  or 
continental  Europeans. 

This  higher  estimation  begins  early  in  life. 
Every  child  in  this  country  is  considered  worth 
educating.  The  State  will  rescue  the  child  of  the 
pauper  or  criminal  from  the  ignorance  which  has 
been  a  factor  in  the  condition  of  its  parents.  Even 

31 


Is  Polite  the  idiot  has  a  school  provided  for  him,  in  which 

Society      he  may  receive  such  training  as  he  can  profit  by. 

Polite?     This  general  education  starts  us  on  a  pretty  high 

level.     We  have,  no  doubt,  all  the  faults  of  our 

human   nature,  but  we    know,  too,  how  and  why 

these  should  be  avoided. 

Then  the  great  freedom  of  outlook  which  our 
institutions  give  us  is  in  our  favor.  We  need  call 
no  man  Master.  We  can  pursue  the  highest  aims, 
aspire  to  the  noblest  distinctions.  We  have  no 
excuse  for  contenting  ourselves  with  the  paltry 
objects  and  illusory  ambitions  which  play  so  large 
a  part  in  Old- World  society. 

The  world  grows  better  and  not  worse,  but  it 
does  not  grow  better  everywhere  all  the  time. 
Wherever  human  effort  to  a  given  end  is  inter 
mitted,  society  does  not  attain  that  end,  and  is  in 
danger  of  gradually  losing  it  from  view,  and  thus 
of  suffering  an  unconscious  deterioration  which  it 
may  become  difficult  to  retrieve.  I  do  not  think 
that  the  manners  of  so-called  polite  society  to-day 
are  quite  so  polite  as  they  were  in  my  youth. 
Young  women  of  fashion  seem  to  me  to  have  lost 
in  dignity  of  character  and  in  general  tone  and  cul 
ture.  Young  men  of  fashion  seem  to  regard  the 
young  ladies  with  less  esteem  and  deference,  and  a 
general  cheap  and  easy  standard  of  manners  is  the 
result. 

On  the  other  hand,  outside  this  charmed  circle 


of  fashion,  I   find  the  tone  of  taste   and  culture  Is  Polite 
much  higher  than  I  remember  it  to  have  been  in  Society 
my  youth.     I  find  women  leading  nobler  and  better  Polite? 
lives,  filling  larger  and  higher  places,  enjoying  the 
upper  air  of  thought  where  they  used  to  rest  upon 
the  very  soil  of  domestic  care  and  detail.     So  the 
community  gains,  although  one  class  loses,  —  and 
that,  remember,  the  class  which  assumes  to  give  to 
the  rest  the  standard  of  taste. 

Instead  of  dwelling  too  much  upon  the  faults  of 
our  neighbors,  let  us  ask  whether  we  are  not,  one 
and  all  of  us,  under  sacred  obligations  to  carry  our 
race  onward  toward  a  nobler  social  ideal.  In  Old- 
World  countries,  people  lack  room  for  new  ideas. 
The  individual  who  would  introduce  and  establish 
these  may  be  imprisoned,  or  sent  to  Siberia,  or  may 
suffer,  at  the  least,  a  social  ostracism  which  is  a  sort 
of  martyrdom. 

Here  we  have  room  enough;  we  cannot  excuse 
ourselves  on  that  ground.  And  we  have  strength 
enough  —  we,  the  people.  Let  us  only  have  the 
royal w\\\  which  good  Mr.  Whittier  has  celebrated 
in  "  Barbara  Frietchie,"  and  we  shall  be  able,  by  a 
resolute  and  persevering  effort,  to  place  our  civili 
zation  where  no  lingering  trace  of  barbarism  shall 
deform  and  disgrace  it. 


33 


Paris 


Paris. 

AN  old  woman's  tale  will  always  begin  with  a  Paris 
reminiscence    of    some    period   more    or    less 
remote. 

In  accordance  with  this  law  of  nature,  I  find  that 
I  cannot  begin  to  speak  of  Paris  without  going 
back  to  the  projection  which  the  fashions  and  man 
ners  of  that  ancient  capital  were  able  to  cast  upon 
my  own  native  city  of  New  York.  My  recollec 
tions  of  the  latter  reach  back,  let  me  say,  to  the 
year  1826.  I  was  then  seven  years  old;  and, 
beginning  to  take  notice  of  things  around  me,  I 
saw  the  social  eminences  of  the  day  lit  up  with  the 
far-off  splendors  of  Parisian  taste. 

To  speak  French  with  ease  was,  in  those  days, 
considered  the  most  desirable  of  accomplishments. 
The  elegance  of  French  manners  was  commended 
in  all  polite  circles.  The  services  of  General 
Lafayette  were  held  up  to  children  as  deserving 
their  lifelong  remembrance  and  gratitude. 

But  the  culmination  of  the  Gallomania  was  seen 
in  the  millinery  of  the  period ;  and  I  must  confess 
that  my  earliest  views  of  this  were  enjoyed  within 
the  precincts  of  a  certain  Episcopal  sanctuary 
which  then  stood  first  upon  the  dress-list,  and,  like 
Jove  among  the  gods,  without  a  second.  This 

37 


Paris  establishment  retained  its  pre-eminence  of  toilet 
for  more  than  thirty  years  after  the  time  of  which 
I  speak,  and  perhaps  does  so  still.  I  have  now 
lived  so  long  in  Boston  that  I  should  be  obliged 
to  consult  New  York  authorities  if  I  wished  to  be 
able  to  say  decidedly  whether  the  well-known  Grace 
Church  of  that  city  still  deserves  to  be  called  "  The 
Church  of  the  Holy  Milliner."  A  little  child's 
fancy  naturally  ran  riot  in  a  field  of  bonnets  so 
splendid  and  showy,  and,  however  admonished  to 
listen  to  the  minister,  I  am  afraid  that  a  raid  upon 
the  flowers  and  plumes  so  lavishly  displayed  before 
me  would  have  offered  more  attractions  to  my  ten 
der  mind  than  any  itinerary  of  the  celestial  jour 
ney  of  which  I  should  have  been  likely  to  hear  in 
that  place. 

The  French  dancing-master  of  that  period 
taught  us  gambols  and  flourishes  long  since  ban 
ished  from  the  domain  of  social  decorum.  Being 
light  and  alert,  I  followed  his  prescriptions  with 
joy,  and  learned  with  patience  the  lessons  set  me 
by  the  French  mistress,  who,  while  leading  us 
through  Florian's  tales  and  La  Fontaine's  fables, 
did  not  forget  to  impress  upon  us  her  conviction 
that  to  be  French  was  to  be  virtuous,  but  to  be 
Parisian  was  to  be  perfect. 

Let  me  now  pass  on  to  the  years  of  my  young- 
ladyhood,  when  New  York  reflected  Paris  on  a 
larger  scale.  The  distinguished  people  of  the  soci- 


ety  to  which  my  youth  was  related  either  had  been  Paris 
to  Paris  or  expected  to  go  there  very  shortly.  Our 
circles  were  sometimes  electrified  by  the  appearance 
of  a  well-dressed  and  perfumed  stranger,  wearing 
the  moustache  which  was  then  strictly  contraband 
in  the  New  York  business  world,  and  talking  of 
manners  and  customs  widely  different  from  our 
own. 

These  elegant  gentlemen  were  sometimes  adven 
turers  in  pursuit  of  a  rich  wife,  sometimes  intelli 
gent  and  well-informed  travellers,  and  sometimes 
the  agents  of  some  foreign  banking-house,  for  the 
drummer  was  not  yet  invented.  If  they  were  fur 
nished  with  satisfactory  credentials,  the  fathers  of 
Gotham  introduced  them  into  their  domestic  circle, 
usually  warning  their  daughters  never  to  think  of 
them  as  husbands,  —  a  warning  which,  naturally, 
would  sometimes  defeat  its  own  object. 

I  must  here  be  allowed  to  say  one  word  concern 
ing  the  French  novel,  which,  since  that  time,  has 
here  and  there  affected  the  tone  of  our  society.  In 
the  days  of  which  I  speak,  brothers  who  returned 
from  Europe  brought  with  them  the  romances  of 
Balzac  and  Victor  Hugo,  which  their  sisters  sur 
reptitiously  read.  We  heard  also  with  a  sort  of 
terror  of  George  Sand,  the  evil  woman,  who  wrote 
such  somnambulic  books.  We  pictured  to  our 
selves  the  wicked  delight  of  reading  them  ;  and 
presently  some  friend  confidentially  lent  us  the  for- 

39 


Paris  bidden  volumes,  which  our  Puritan  nurture  and 
habit  of  life  did  much  to  render  harmless  and  not 
quite  clear  in  meaning. 

I  should  say  that  the  works  of  Balzac,  George 
Sand,  Victor  Hugo,  and  Eugene  Sue  had  each  ex 
erted  an  appreciable  influence  upon  the  social  at 
mosphere  of  this  country.  Of  these  four,  Balzac 
was  the  least  popular,  having  long  been  known  only 
to  readers  acquainted  with  the  French  language. 
George  Sand  first  became  widely  recognized  through 
her  "  Consuelo."  Victor  Hugo's  popular  fame 
dates  from  "  Les  Miserables,"  and  "  The  Mysteries 
of  Paris  "  opened  the  doors  to  Eugene  Sue,  and 
Rigolette  and  Fleur  de  Marie,  new  types  of  character 
to  most  of  us,  appeared  upon  the  stage. 

Still  nearer  was  Paris  brought  to  us  by  Carlyle's 
work  on  the  French  Revolution,  which,  falling  like 
a  compact  and  burning  coal  upon  the  American 
imagination,  reddened  the  sober  twilight  of  our  fire 
sides  with  the  burning  passion  and  frenzy  of  that 
great  drama  of  enthusiasm  and  revenge.  And  here, 
lest  I  should  entirely  reverse  the  order  in  which 
historic  things  should  be  spoken  of,  let  me  dismiss 
those  early  memories,  and,  having  shown  you  some 
thing  of  the  far-reaching  influence  of  the  city,  let 
me  speak  of  it  from  nearer  sight  and  study. 

History  must  come  first.  I  find  it  written  in  a 
certain  record  that  Paris,  in  the  time  of  Julius 
Caesar,  was  a  collection  of  huts  built  upon  an  island 

40 


in  the  Seine,  and  bearing  the  name  of  Lutetia.  Its  Paris 
inhabitants  were  called  Parisii,  which  was  the  name 
of  their  tribe^supposed  to  be  an  offshoot  from  the 
Belgae.  I  do  not  know  whether  this  primitive  set 
tlement  lay  within  the  bounds  of  Gallia  Eracchiata  ; 
but,  if  it  did,  how  natural  that  to  the  other  indebt 
edness  of  polite  life,  that  of  the  trouser  should  be 
added !  The  city  still  possesses  some  interesting 
remains  of  the  Roman  period.  The  Hotel  Cluny 
is  also  called  "The  Hotel  of  the  Baths,"  and  who 
ever  visits  it  may  at  the  same  time  explore  a  mas 
sive  ruin  which  is  said  to  have  covered  beneath  its 
roof  the  baths  of  the  Emperor  Julian,  surnamed 
"  The  Apostate." 

A  rapid  panoramic  retrospect  will  give  us  briefly 
the  leading  points  of  the  city's  many  periods  of 
interest.  First  must  be  named  Paris  of  the  early 
saints  :  Saint  Genevieve,  who  saved  it  from  the 
hands  of  Attila ;  Saint  Denis,  famous  for  having 
walked  several  miles  after  his  head  was  cut  off, 
carrying  that  deposed  member  under  his  arm. 

A  well-known  French  proverb  was  suggested 
some  time  in  the  last  century  by  the  relation  of 
this  mediaeval  miracle.  The  celebrated  Madame 
Dudeffant,  a  wit  and  beauty  of  Horace  Walpole's 
time,  was  told  one  day  that  the  Archbishop  of  Paris 
had  said  that  every  one  knew  that  Saint  Denis  had 
walked  some  distance  after  his  decapitation,  but 
that  few  people  were  aware  that  he  had  walked  sev- 


Paris  eral  miles  on  that  occasion.  Madame  DudefFant 
said,  in  reply  :  "  Indeed,  in  such  a  case,  it  is  the  first 
step  only  that  costs,"  —  "  Ce  nest  que  le  premier  pas 
qui  coute" 

Paris  of  the  sleepy  Merovingians,  —  do-nothing 
kings,  a  race  made  to  be  kicked  out,  and  fulfilling 
its  destiny,  —  Paris  of  Hugh  Capet,  in  whose  reign 
were  laid  the  foundations  of  the  Cathedral  of  Notre 
Dame.  Paris  of  1176,  whereof  the  old  chronicler, 
John  of  Salisbury,  writes  :  "  When  I  saw  the  abun 
dance  of  provisions,  the  gaiety  of  the  people,  the 
good  condition  of  the  clergy,  the  majesty  and  glory 
of  all  the  church,  the  diverse  occupations  of  men 
admitted  to  the  study  of  philosophy,  I  seemed  to 
see  that  Jacob's  ladder  whose  summit  reached 
heaven,  and  on  which  the  angels  ascended  and  de 
scended.  I  must  confess  that  truly  the  Lord  was  in 
this  place.  This  passage  also  of  a  poet  came  to  my 
mind :  £  Happy  is  the  man  whose  exile  is  to  this 
place/" 

This  suggests  the  familiar  saying  of  our  own 
time,  —  that  good  Bostonians,  when  they  die,  go 
to  Paris. 

Paris  of  Louis  XL,  he  of  the  strong  hand,  the 
stony  heart,  the  superstitious  mind.  Scott  has 
seized  the  features  of  the  time  and  of  the  man  in 
his  novel  of  "  Quentin  Durward."  His  hat,  full 
of  leaden  images  of  saints,  his  cunning  and  piti- 

42 


less  diplomacy,  and  the  personages  of  his  brilliant  Paris 
court  are  brought  vividly  before  us  by  the  magi 
cian  of  the  North. 

Paris  of  Louis  XIII.,  and  its  Richelieu  live  for 
us  in  Bulwer's  vivid  play,  in  which  I  have  often 
seen  the  fine  impersonation  of  Edwin  Booth. 

Paris  of  Louis  XIV.,  the  handsome  young  king, 
the  idol,  the  absolute  sovereign,  who  said  :  "L'etat, 
c  est  moi;"  the  old  man  before  whom  Madame  de 
Maintenon  is  advised  to  say  her  prayers,  in  order 
to  make  upon  his  mind  a  serious  impression ;  the 
revoker  of  the  edict  of  Nantes ;  he  who  tried  to 
extinguish  Dutch  freedom  with  French  blood ;  a 
god  in  his  own  time,  a  figure  now  faded,  pompous, 
self-adoring. 

Paris  of  Louis  XV.,  the  reign  of  license,  the 
Pare  aux  cerfs,  the  period  of  the  courtesan,  Madame 
de  Pompadour,  and  a  host  of  rivals  and  succes 
sors, —  a  hateful  type  of  womanhood,  justly  odious 
and  gladly  forgotten. 

Paris  of  Louis  XVI.,  the  days  of  progress  and 
of  good  intentions ;  the  deficit,  the  ministry  of 
Neckar,  the  states  general,  Mirabeau,  Lafayette, 
Robespierre,  the  fall  of  the  monarch,  the  reign  of 
terror  ;  the  guillotine  in  permanence,  science,  virtue, 
every  distinction  supplying  its  victims. 

Paris  of  Napoleon  I. ;  a  whiff  of  grape-shot  that 
silences  the  last  grumblings  of  the  Revolution  ;  the 

43 


Paris  mighty  marches,  the  strategy  of  Ulysses,  the  labors 
of  Hercules,  the  glory  of  Jupiter,  ending  in  the  fate 
of  Prometheus. 

Paris  of  the  returned  Bourbons,  Charles  X.,  the 
Due  de  Berri,  the  Duchess  d'Angouleme  ;  Paris  of 
the  Orleans  dynasty,  civil,  civic,  free,  witty  ;  wise 
here,  and  wicked  there ;  the  Mecca  of  students  in 
all  sciences  ;  a  region  problematic  to  parents,  who 
fear  its  vices  and  expense,  but  who  desire  its  oppor 
tunities  and  elegance  for  their  sons.  This  was  in 
the  days  in  which  a  visit  to  Paris  was  the  ne  plus 
ultra  of  what  parents  could  do  to  forward  a  son's 
studies,  or  perfect  a  daughter's  accomplishments. 

Having  made  my  connections  in  this  breathless 
review,  I  must  return  to  speak  of  two  modern 
works  of  art  which  treat  of  matters  upon  which 
my  haste  did  not  allow  me,  in  the  first  instance,  to 
dwell. 

The  first  of  these  is  Victor  Hugo's  picture  of 
mediaeval  Paris,  given  in  his  famous  romance 
entitled  "  Notre  Dame  de  Paris."  This  remarkable 
novel  preserves  valuable  details  of  the  architecture 
of  the  ancient  cathedral  from  which  it  takes  its 
name.  It  paints  the  society  of  the  time  in  gloomy 
colors.  The  clergy  are  corrupt,  the  soldiery  licen 
tious,  the  people  forlorn  and  friendless.  Here  is 
a  brief  outline  of  the  story.  The  beautiful  gipsy, 
Esmeralda,  dances  and  twirls  her  tambourine  in  the 
public  streets.  Her  companion  is  a  little  goat,, 

44 


which  she  has  taught  to  spell  her  lover's  name,  by  Paris 
putting  together  the  letters  which  compose  it.  This 
lover  is  Phoebus ,  captain  of  the  guard.  Claude  Frolloy 
the  cunning,  wicked  priest  of  the  period,  has  cast 
his  evil  eye  upon  the  girl.  He  manages  to  surprise 
her  when  alone  with  her  lover,  and  stabs  the  latter 
so  as  to  endanger  his  life.  A  hideous  dwarf,  named 
Quasimodo^  also  loves  Esmeralda,  with  humble,  faith 
ful  affection.  As  the  story  develops,  he  turns  out 
to  have  been  the  changeling  laid  in  the  place  of  the 
lovely  girl-infant  whom  gipsies  stole  from  her  cra 
dle.  Esmeralda  finds  her  distracted  parent,  but  only 
to  be  torn  from  her  arms  again.  The  priest,  Claude 
Frollo,  foiled  in  his  unlawful  passion,  stirs  up  the 
wrath  of  the  populace  against  Esmeralda,  accusing 
her  of  sorcery.  She  is  seized  by  the  mob,  and 
hanged  in  the  public  street.  The  narrative  is  pow 
erful  and  graphic,  but  it  shows  the  disease  of  Victor 
Hugo's  mind,  —  a  morbid  imagination  which 
heightens  the  color  of  human  crimes  in  order  to 
give  a  melodramatic  brilliancy  to  the  virtue  which 
contrasts  with  them.  According  to  his  view,  suf 
fering  through  the  fault  of  others  is  necessarily  the 
lot  of  all  good  people.  French  romance  has  in  it 
much  of  this  despair  of  the  cause  of  virtue.  It 
springs,  however  remotely,  from  the  dark  days  of 
absolutism,  whose  bitter  secrets  were  masked  over 
by  the  frolic  fancy  of  the  people  who  invented  the 
joyous  science  of  minstrelsy. 

45 


Paris  The  other  work  which  I  have  now  in  mind  is 
Meyerbeer's  opera  of"  The  Huguenots,"  which  I 
mention  here  because  it  brings  so  vividly  to  mind 
the  features  of  another  period  in  the  history  of 
Paris.  It  represents,  as  an  opera  may,  the  fright 
ful  days  in  which  a  king's  hospitality  was  made  a 
trap  for  the  wholesale  butchery  of  as  many  Protes 
tants  as  could  be  lured  within  the  walls  of  Paris,  — 
the  massacre  which  bears  the  name  of  Saint  Bar 
tholomew.  Nobles  and  leaders  were  shot  down  in 
the  streets,  or  murdered  in  their  beds,  while  the 
hollow  phrases  of  the  royal  favor  still  rang  in  their 
ears.  I  have  seen,  near  the  church  of  St.  Ger 
main  T  Auxerois,  the  palace  window  from  which  the 
kerchief  of  Catherine  de  Medici  gave  the  signal  for 
the  fatal  onslaught.  "  Do  you  not  believe  my 
word  ? "  asked  the  Queen  Mother  one  day  of  the 
English  ambassador.  "  No,  by  Saint  Bartholomew, 
Madam,"  was  the  sturdy  reply. 

Meyerbeer's  opera  is  truly  a  Protestant  work  of 
art,  vigorous  and  noble.  Through  all  the  intensity 
of  its  dramatic  situations  runs  the  grand  choral  of 
Luther :  — 

A  mighty  fortress  is  our  God. 

So  true  faith  holds  its  own,  and  sails  its  silver  boat 
upon  the  bloody  sea  of  martyrdom. 

Am  I  obliged  to  have  recourse  to  a  novel  and  an 

46 


opera  in  order  to  bring  before  your  eyes  a  vision  of  Paris 
Paris  in  those  distant  ages  ?  Such  are  our  indebt 
ednesses  to  art  and  literature.  And  here  I  must 
again  mention,  as  a  great  master  in  both  of  these, 
Thomas  Carlyle,  who  has  given  us  so  vivid  and 
graphic  a  picture  of  the  Revolution  in  France, 
which  followed  so  nearly  upon  our  own  War  of 
Independence. 

I,  a  grandmother  of  to-day,  recall  the  impression 
which  this  great  conflict  had  made  upon  the  grand 
parents  of  my  childhood.  Most  wicked  and  cruel 
did  they  esteem  it,  in  all  of  its  aspects.  To  people 
of  our  day,  it  appears  the  inevitable  crisis  of  a  most 
malignant  state  of  national  disease.  Much  of 
political  quackery  was  swept  away  forever,  one 
may  hope,  by  its  virulent  outbreak.  No  half-way 
nostrums,  no  outside  tinkering,  answered  for  this 
fiery  patient,  whose  fever  set  the  whole  continent 
of  Europe  in  a  blaze.  War  itself  was  gentle  in 
comparison  with  the  acts  of  its  savage  delirium, 
in  which  the  vengeance  of  defrauded  ages  fell  upon 
victims  most  of  whom  were  innocent  of  personal 
offence.  The  reign  of  humanitarian  theory  led 
strangely  to  a  period  of  military  predominance 
which  has  had  no  parallel  since  the  days  of  Alex 
ander  of  Macedon.  Then  War  itself  died  of  ex 
haustion.  The  stupor  of  reaction  quenched  the 
dream  of  civil  and  religious  liberty.  But  the  pa- 

47 


Paris  tient  stirred  again  in  1830  and  1848,  and  the 
dream,  scarcely  yet  realized,  became  more  and  more 
the  settled  purpose  of  his  heart. 

Now  the  government  in  1830  was  manifestly  in 
the  wrong.  The  stupid  old  Bourbon  Prince, 
Charles  X.,  had  learned  nothing,  and  forgotten 
nothing,  but  the  French  people  had  learned  and 
unlearned  many  things.  They  had  learned  the 
illusion  of  Monarchy,  the  corruption  of  the  dem 
agogue,  the  futility  of  the  sentimentalist.  The 
impotence  of  the  aristocracy  was  one  of  the  lessons 
of  the  day.  Was  ever  a  people  more  rapidly  ed 
ucated  ?  Take  the  canaille  of  the  pre-revolutionary 
history,  and  the  peuple  of  the  Revolution.  What 
a  contrast !  It  is  the  lion  asleep  in  the  toils,  and 
the  lion  awake,  and  turning  upon  his  captors  in 
fury.  The  French  people  have  never  gone  back 
to  what  they  were  before  that  great  outbreak.  The 
mighty,  volcanic  heart  has  made  its  pulsations  felt 
through  all  assumptions,  through  all  restraints. 
Yet  the  French  people  are  easily  tricked.  They 
are  easily  led  to  receive  pedantry  for  education,  big 
otry  for  religion,  constraint  for  order,  and  success 
ful  pretension  for  glory. 

The  Revolution  of  1848  was  justified  in  all  but 
its  method.  And  method  has  often  been  the  weak 
point  in  French  politics.  Methods  are  handed 
down  more  surely  than  ideas  are  inherited.  The 
violent  measures  whose  record  forms  so  large  a 


part  of  French  history  have  left  behind  them  a  Paris 
belief  in  military,  rather  than  in  moral,  action. 
The  coup  d'etat  would  seem  by  its  name  to  be  a 
French  invention ;  but  it  is  a  method  abhorred  of 
Justice.  Justice  recognizes  two  sides,  and  gives 
ear  to  both.  Passion  sees  but  one,  and  blots  out 
in  blood  the  representatives  of  the  other.  The 
Revolution  of  1848  was  the  rather  premature 
explosion  of  a  wide  and  subtle  conspiracy.  But 
if  the  conflicting  opinions  and  interests  then  cur 
rent  could  have  encountered  each  other,  as  in  Eng 
land  or  America,  in  open  daylight,  trusting  only  in 
the  weapons  of  reason,  a  very  different  result 
would  have  been  achieved.  Do  not  conspire,  is 
one  of  the  lessons  which  Paris  teaches  by  her  his 
tory.  Do  not  say,  nor  teach  others  to  say :  "  If 
we  cannot  have  our  way,  we  will  have  your  life." 
Say,  rather :  "  Let  both  sides  state  their  case,  and 
plead  their  cause,  and  let  the  weight  of  Reason 
decide  which  shall  prevail." 

Paris  as  I  first  knew  it,  half  a  century  ago,  was 
a  place  imposing  for  its  good  taste  and  good  man 
ners.  A  stranger  passing  through  it  with  ever  so 
little  delay  would  necessarily  have  been  impressed 
with  the  general  intelligence,  and  with  the  aesthetic 
invention  and  nicety  which,  more  than  anything 
else,  have  given  the  city  its  social  and  commercial 
prestige. 

49 


Paris  In  those  days,  Chateaubriand  and  Madame  Re- 
camier  were  still  alive.  The  traditions  of  society 
were  polite.  The  theatres  were  vivacious  schools 
of  morality.  The  salon  was  still  an  institution. 
This  was  not  what  we  should  call  a  party,  but  the 
habitual  meeting  of  friends  in  a  friend's  house,  — 
a  good  institution,  if  kept  up  in  a  good  spirit. 

The  natural  sociability  of  the  French  made  the 
salon  an  easy  and  natural  thing  for  them.  Salons 
were  of  all  sorts.  Some  shone  in  true  glory  ;  some 
disguised  evil  purposes  and  passions  with  artificial 
graces.  I  think  the  institution  of  the  salon  indig 
enous  to  Paris,  although  it  has  by  no  means 
stopped  there. 

The  great  point  in  administering  a  salon  is  to 
do  it  sincerely.  Where  the  children  are  put  out  of 
the  way,  the  old  friends  neglected,  the  rich  courted, 
and  celebrities  impaled  and  exhibited,  the  institu 
tion  is  demoralizing,  and  answers  no  end  of  per 
manent  good.  A  friendly  house,  that  opens  its 
doors  as  often  and  as  widely  as  the  time  and  for 
tune  of  its  inmates  can  afford,  is  a  boon  and  bless 
ing  to  many  people. 

I  suppose  that  the  French  salons  were  of  both 
sorts.  Sydney  Smith  speaks  of  a  certain  historical 
set  of  Parisian  women  who  dealt  very  lightly  with 
the  Decalogue,  but  who,  on  the  other  hand,  gave 
very  pleasant  little  suppers.  French  society,  no 
doubt,  afforded  many  occasions  of  this  sort,  but 

50 


far  different  were  the  meetings  in  which  the  literary  Paris 
world  of  Paris  listened  to  the  unpublished  me 
moirs  of  Chateaubriand ;  far  different  was  the 
throng  that  gathered,  twice  a  day,  around  the 
hearth  of  the  wise  and  devout  Madame  Swetchine. 
In  the  days  just  mentioned,  I  passed  through 
Paris,  returning  from  my  bridal  journey,  which  had 
carried  me  to  Rome.  I  was  eager  to  explore  every 
corner  of  the  enchanted  region.  What  I  did  see,  I 
have  never  forgotten,  —  the  brilliant  shops,  the 
tempting  cafes,  the  varied  and  entertaining  theatres. 
I  attended  a  seance  of  the  Chamber  of  Deputies,  a 
lecture  of  Edgar  de  Quinet,  and  one  of  Philarete 
Charles.  De  Quinet's  lecture  was  given  at  the 
Sorbonne.  I  remember  of  it  only  the  enthusiasm 
of  the  audience,  —  the  faces  at  once  fiery  and 
thoughtful,  the  occasional  cries  of "  De  Quinet," 
when  any  passage  particularly  stirred  the  feelings 
of  the  auditors.  Of  Philarete  Charles,  I  remember 
that  his  theme  was  "  English  Literature,'*  and  that 
at  the  close  of  his  lecture  he  took  occasion  to  rep 
robate  the  whole  literary  world  of  America.  The 
bon  homme  Franklin,  he  said,  had  outwitted  the 
French  Court.  The  country  of  Franklin  was  ut 
terly  without  interest  from  an  intellectual  point  of 
view.  "When,"  said  he,  "we  take  into  account 
the  late  lamentable  disorders  in  New  York  (some 
small  election  riot,  in  1844),  we  shall  agree  upon 
the  low  state  of  American  civilization  and  the  small 

51 


Paris  prospect  of  good  held  out  by  the  republic."  He 
was  unaware,  of  course,  that  Americans  were  among 
his  hearers  ;  but  a  certain  tidal  wave  of  anger  arose 
in  my  heart,  and  had  not  my  graver  companion 
held  me  down,  I  should  have  arisen  then,  as  I  cer 
tainly  should  now,  to  say :  "  Monsieur  Philarete 
Charles,  you  are  uttering  falsehoods.'* 

In  those  days,  I  first  saw  Rachel,  then  in  the  full 
affluence  of  her  genius.  The  trenchant  manner, 
the  statuesque  drapery,  the  chain-lightning  effects, 
were  much  as  they  were  afterwards  seen  in  this 
country.  But  when  I  saw  her,  seven  years  after 
that  first  time,  in  London,  I  thought  that  her  un 
rivalled  powers  had  bloomed  to  a  still  fuller  per 
fection  than  before.  Of  finest  clay,  thrilled  by 
womanly  passion  and  tempered  by  womanly  tact, 
we  need  not  remember  the  faults  of  the  person  in 
the  perfection  of  the  artist.  Alfred  de  Musset  has 
left  a  charming  account  of  a  supper  at  her  house. 
I  certainly  have  never  seen  on  the  boards  a  tragic 
conception  equal  to  hers.  Ristori,  able  as  she  was, 
seemed  to  me  to  fall  short  in  Rachel's  great  parts, 
if  we  except  the  last  scene  of  "  Marie  Stuart,"  in 
which  the  Christian  woman,  following  the  crucifix 
to  her  death,  showed  a  sense  of  its  value  which  the 
Jewish  woman  could  neither  feel  nor  counterfeit. 

The  gallery  of  the  Louvre  recalls  the  finest  pal 
aces  of  Italy,  and  equals,  in  value  and  interest,  any 
gallery  in  the  world.  Venice  is  far  richer  in  Titian's 


pictures,  and  Rome  and  Florence  keep  the  greatest  Paris 
works  of  Raphael  and  Michael  Angelo.  To  under 
stand  Quintin  Matsys  and  Rubens,  you  must  go 
to  Antwerp,  where  their  finest  productions  remain. 
But  the  Louvre  has  an  unsurpassed  variety  and  in 
terest,  and  exhibits  not  a  few  of  the  chief  treasures 
of  ancient  and  modern  art.  Among  these  are  some 
of  the  masterpieces  of  Titian,  Raphael,  and  Leo 
nardo  da  Vinci,  the  Conception  of  Murillo,  Paul 
Veronese's  great  picture  of  the  marriage  at  Cana 
in  Galilee,  and  the  ever- famous  Venus  of  Milo. 

In  one  of  the  principal  galleries  of  Venice,  I  was 
once  shown  a  large  picture  by  the  French  artist 
David.  I  do  not  remember  much  about  its  merits, 
but,  on  asking  how  it  came  there,  I  was  told  that 
its  place  had  formerly  been  occupied  by  a  famous 
picture  by  Paul  Veronese.  Napoleon  I.,  it  will  be 
remembered,  robbed  the  galleries  of  Italy  of  many 
of  their  finest  pictures.  After  his  downfall,  most 
of  these  stolen  treasures  were  restored  to  their 
rightful  owners  ;  but  the  French  never  gave  up  the 
Paul  Veronese  picture,  which  was  this  very  one  that 
now  hangs  in  the  Louvre,  where  its  vivid  coloring 
and  rich  grouping  look  like  a  piece  of  Venice,  bright 
and  glorious  like  herself. 

The  student  of  art,  returning  from  Italy,  is  pos 
sessed  with  the  mediaeval  gloom  and  glory  which 
there  have  filled  his  eyes  and  his  imagination. 
With  a  sigh,  looking  toward  our  Western  world,  so 

53 


Paris  rich  in  action,  so  poor  as  yet  in  art,  he  pauses  here  in 
surprise,  to  view  a  cosmopolitan  palace  of  her  splen 
dors.  It  consoles  him  to  think  that  the  Beautiful 
has  made  so  brave  a  stand  upon  the  nearer  borders 
of  the  Seine.  Encouraged  by  the  noble  record  of 
French  achievement,  he  carries  with  him  across  the 
ocean  the  traditions  of  Jerome,  of  Rosa  Bonheur, 
of  Horace  Vernet. 

In  historical  monuments,  Paris  is  rich  indeed. 
The  oldest  of  these  that  I  remember  was  the  Tem 
ple,  —  the  ancient  stronghold  of  the  Knights  Tem 
plar,  who  were  cruelly  extirpated  in  the  year  1307. 
It  was  a  large,  circular  building,  occupied,  when  I 
visited  it,  as  a  place  for  the  sale  of  second-hand 
commodities.  I  remember  making  purchases  of 
lace  within  its  walls  which  were  nearly  black  with 
age.  You  will  remember  that  Louis  XVI.  and  his 
family  were  confined  here  for  some  time,  and  that 
here  took  place  the  sad  parting  between  the  King 
and  the  dear  ones  he  was  never  to  see  again.  I 
will  subjoin  a  brief  extract  from  the  diary  of  my 
grandfather,  Col.  Samuel  Ward,  of  the  Revolution 
ary  War,  who  was  in  Paris  at  the  time  of  the  King's 
execution :  — 

January  if,  If $2.  The  Convention  up  all  night  upon  the 
question  of  the  King's  sentence.  At  eleven  this  night  the  sen 
tence  of  death  was  pronounced,  —  three  hundred  and  sixty-six  for 
death  ;  three  hundred  and  nineteen  for  seclusion  or  banishment ; 

54 


thirty-six  various;  majority  of  five  absolute.  The  King  de-  Paris 
sired  an  appeal  to  be  made  to  the  people,  which  was  not  allowed. 
Thus  the  Convention  have  been  the  accusers,  the  judges,  and 
will  be  the  executors  of  their  own  sentence.  This  will  cause  a 
great  degree  of  astonishment  in  America,  where  the  departments 
are  so  well  divided  that  the  judges  have  power  to  break  all  acts 
of  the  Legislature  interfering  with  the  exercise  of  their  office. 

January  20.      The  fate  of  the  King  disturbs  everybody. 

January  21.  I  had  engaged  to  pass  this  day,  which  is  one  of 
horror,  at  Versailles,  with  Mr.  Morris.  The  King  was  beheaded 
at  eleven  o'clock.  Guards  at  an  early  hour  took  possession  of 
the  Place  Louis  XV.,  and  were  posted  at  each  avenue.  The 
most  profound  stillness  prevailed.  Those  who  had  feeling  la 
mented  in  secret  in  their  houses,  or  had  left  town.  Others 
showed  the  same  levity  and  barbarous  indifference  as  on  former 
occasions.  Hitchborn,  Henderson,  and  Johnson  went  to  see  the 
execution,  for  which,  as  an  American,  I  was  sorry.  The  King 
desired  to  speak:  he  had  only  time  to  say  he  was  innocent,  and 
forgave  his  enemies.  He  behaved  with  the  fortitude  of  a  martyr. 
Santerre  ordered  the  executicner  to  dispatch. 

Louis  Napoleon  ordered  the  destruction  of  this 
venerable  monument  of  antiquity,  and  did  much 
else  to  efface  the  landmarks  of  the  ancient  Paris, 
and  to  give  his  elegant  capital  the  air  of  a  city 
entirely  modern. 

The  history  of  the  Bastile  has  been  published 
in  many  volumes,  some  of  which  I  have  read.  It 
was  the  convenient  dark  closet  of  the  French  nur 
sery.  Whoever  gave  trouble  to  the  Government 
or  to  any  of  its  creatures  was  liable  to  be  set  away 
here  without  trial  or  resource.  One  prisoner  con 
fined  in  it  escaped  by  patiently  unravelling  his 

55 


Paris  shirts  and  drawers  of  silk,  and  twisting  them  into 
a  thick  cord,  by  means  of  which  he  reached  the 
moat,  and  so  passed  beyond  bounds. 

An  historical  personage,  whose  name  is  unknown, 
passed  many  years  in  this  sad  place,  wearing  an  iron 
mask,  which  no  official  ever  saw  removed.  He  is 
supposed  by  some  to  have  been  a  twin  brother  of 
the  King,  Louis  XIV. ;  so  we  see  that,  although  it 
might  seem  a  piece  of  good  fortune  to  be  born  so 
near  the  crown,  it  might  also  prove  to  be  the  great 
est  of  misfortunes.  Think  what  must  have  been 
the  life  of  that  captive  —  how  blank,  weary,  and 
indignant ! 

When  the  Bastile  was  destroyed,  a  prisoner  was 
found  who  had  suffered  so  severely  from  the  cold 
and  damp  of  its  dungeons  that  his  lips  had  split 
completely  open,  leaving  his  teeth  exposed.  Car- 
lyle  describes  the  commandant  of  the  fortress  car 
ried  along  in  the  hands  of  an  infuriated  mob,  crying 
out  with  piteous  supplication  :  "  O  friends,  kill  me 
quick  !  "  The  fury  was  indeed  natural,  but  better 
resource  against  tyranny  had  been  the  calm,  strong 
will  and  deliberate  judgment.  It  is  little  to  kill 
the  tyrant  and  destroy  his  tools.  We  must  study 
to  find  out  what  qualities  in  the  ruler  and  the  ruled 
make  tyranny  possible,  and  then  defeat  it,  once  and 
forever. 

The  hospital  of  the  Invalides  was  built  by  Louis 
XIV.,  as  a  refuge  for  disabled  soldiers.  This  large 

56 


edifice  forms  a  hollow  square,  and  is  famous  for  its  Paris 
dome,  —  one  of  the  four  real  domes  of  the  world, 
the  others  being  the  dome  of  St.  Sophia,  in  Con 
stantinople  ;  that  of  St.  Peter's,  in  Rome ;  and  the 
grand  dome  of  our  own  Capitol,  in  Washington. 

I  have  paid  several  visits  to  this  interesting 
establishment,  with  long  intervals  between.  When 
I  first  saw  it,  fifty  years  ago,  there  were  many  of 
Napoleon's  old  soldiers  within  its  walls.  On  one 
occasion,  one  of  these  old  men  showed  us  with 
some  pride  the  toy  fortifications  which  he  had 
built,  guarded  by  toy  soldiers.  cc  There  is  the 
bridge  of  Lodi,"  he  said,  and  pointing  to  a  little 
wooden  figure,  "  there  stands  the  Emperor.'*  At 
this  time,  the  remains  of  the  first  Napoleon  slum 
bered  in  St.  Helena. 

I  saw  the  monument  complete  in  1867.  It  had 
then  been  open  long  to  the  public.  The  marble 
floor  and  steps  around  the  tomb  of  the  first  Napo 
leon  were  literally  carpeted  with  wreaths  and  gar 
lands.  The  brothers  of  the  great  man  lay  around 
him,  in  sarcophagi  of  costliest  marble,  their  names 
recorded  not  as  Bonapartes,  but  as  Napoleons.  A 
dreary  echo  may  have  penetrated  even  to  these  dead 
ears  in  1870,  when  the  column  of  the  Place  Ven- 
dome  fell,  with  the  well-known  statue  for  which  it 
was  only  a  pedestal,  and  when  the  third  Napoleon 
took  his  flight,  repudiated  and  detested. 

But  to  return.    In  1851  I  again  saw  Paris.    The 

57 


Paris  coup  £  it  at  had  not  then  fallen.  Louis  Napoleon 
was  still  President,  and  already  unpopular.  ^  Mur 
murs  were  heard  of  his  inevitable  defeat  in  the 
election  which  was  already  in  men's  minds.  Louis 
Philippe  was  an  exile  in  Scotland.  While  I  was 
yet  in  Paris,  the  ex-King  died ;  but  the  announce 
ment  produced  little  or  no  sensation  in  his  ancient 
capital. 

A  process  was  then  going  on  of  substituting 
asphaltum  pavements  for  the  broad,  flat  paving- 
stones  which  had  proved  so  available  in  former 
barricades.  The  President,  perhaps,  had  coming 
exigencies  in  view.  The  people  looked  on  in  rather 
sullen  astonishment.  Not  long  after  this,  I  found 
myself  at  Versailles  on  a  day  set  apart  for  a  visit 
from  the  President  and  his  suite.  The  great  foun 
tains  were  advertised  to  play  in  honor  of  the  occa 
sion.  From  hall  to  hall  of  the  immense  palace  we 
followed,  at  a  self-respecting  distance,  the  sober 
cortege  of  the  President.  A  middle-sized,  middle- 
aged  man,  he  appeared  to  us. 

The  tail  of  this  comet  was  not  then  visible,  and 
the  star  itself  exhibited  but  moderate  dimensions. 
The  corrupting  influence  of  absolutism  had  not 
yet  penetrated  the  tissues  of  popular  life.  The 
theatres  were  still  loyal  to  decency  and  good  taste. 
Manners  and  dress  were  modest ;  intemperance  was 
rarely  seen. 

A  different  Paris  I  saw  in   1867.     The  dragon's 


teeth  had  been  sown  and  were  ripening.  The  things  Paris 
which  were  Cassar's  had  made  little  account  of  the 
things  which  were  God's.  A  blight  had  fallen  upon 
men  and  women.  The  generation  seemed  to  have 
at  once  less  self-respect  and  less  politeness  than 
those  which  I  had  formerly  known.  The  city  had 
been  greatly  modernized,  perhaps  embellished,  but 
much  of  its  historic  interest  had  disappeared.  The 
theatres  were  licentious.  Friends  said  :  "  Go,  but 
do  not  take  your  daughters."  The  drivers  of 
public  carriages  were  often  intoxicated. 

The  great  Exposition  of  that  year  had  drawn 
together  an  immense  crowd  from  all  parts  of  the 
world.  Among  its  marvels,  my  recollection  dwells 
most  upon  the  gallery  of  French  paintings,  in  which 
I  stood  more  than  once  before  a  full-length  por 
trait  of  the  then  Emperor.  I  looked  into  the  face 
which  seemed  to  say :  "  I  have  succeeded.  What 
has  any  one  to  say  about  it  ?  "  And  I  pondered 
the  slow  movements  of  that  heavenly  Justice  whose 
infallible  decrees  are  not  to  be  evaded.  In  this 
same  gallery  was  that  sitting  statue  of  the  dying 
Napoleon  which  has  since  become  so  familiar  to 
the  world  of  art.  Crowns  of  immortelles  always 
lay  at  the  feet  of  this  statue.  And  I,  in  my  mind, 
compared  the  statue  and  the  picture,  —  the  great 
failure  and  the  great  success.  But  in  Bismarck's 
mind,  even  then,  the  despoiling  of  France  was  pre- 
*determined. 

59 


Paris  What  lessons  shall  we  learn  from  this  imperfect 
sketch  of  Paris  ?  What  other  city  has  figured  so 
largely  in  literature  ?  None  that  I  know  of,  not 
even  Rome  and  Athens.  The  young  French  writers 
of  our  time  make  a  sketch  of  some  corner  of  Paris 
ian  life,  and  it  becomes  a  novel. 

French  history  in  modern  times  is  largely  the 
history  of  Paris.  The  modern  saying  has  been 
that  Paris  was  France.  But  we  shall  say  :  It  is 
not.  Had  Paris  given  a  truer  representation  to 
France,  she  might  have  avoided  many  long  agonies 
and  acute  crises. 

It  is  because  Paris  has  forced  her  representation 
upon  France  that  Absolutism  and  Intelligence,  the 
two  deadly  foes,  have  fought  out  their  fiercest  bat 
tles  on  the  genial  soil  which  seems  never  to  have 
been  allowed  to  bear  its  noblest  fruits.  The  ten 
dency  to  centralization,  with  which  the  French  have 
been  so  justly  reproached,  may  or  may  not  be  in 
veterate  in  them  as  a  people.  If  it  is  so,  the  ten 
dency  of  modern  times,  which  is  mostly  in  the 
contrary  direction,  would  lessen  the  social  and  polit 
ical  importance  of  France  as  surely,  if  not  as  swiftly, 
as  Bismarck's  mulcting  and  mutilation. 

The  organizations  which  result  from  centraliza 
tion  are  naturally  despotic  and,  in  so  far,  demoral 
izing.  Individuals,  having  no  recognized  repre 
sentation,  and  being  debarred  the  natural  resource 
of  legitimate  association,  show  their  devotion  to 

60 


progress  and  their  zeal  for  improvement  either  in  Paris 
passionate  and  melancholy  appeals  or  in  secret  ma- 
noeuvrings.  The  tendency  of  these  methods  is  to 
chronic  fear  on  the  one  hand  and  disaffection  on 
the  other,  and  to  deep  conspiracies  and  sudden 
seditions  which  astonish  the  world,  but  which  have 
in  them  nothing  astonishing  for  the  student  of 
human  nature. 

So  those  who  love  France  should  implore  her  to 
lay  aside  her  quick  susceptibilities  and  irritable 
enthusiasms,  and  to  study  out  the  secret  of  her 
own  shortcomings.  How  is  it  that  one  of  the  most 
intelligent  nations  of  the  world  was,  twenty  years 
ago,  one  of  the  least  instructed  ?  How  is  it  that  a 
warm-blooded,  affectionate  race  generates  such  atro 
cious  social  heartlessness  ?  How  was  it  that  the 
nation  which  was  the  apostle  of  freedom  in  1848 
kept  Rome  for  twenty  years  in  bondage  ?  How 
is  it  that  the  Jesuit,  after  long  exile,  has  been  re- 
enstalled  in  its  midst  with  prestige  and  power  ? 
How  is  it,  in  so  brilliant  and  liberal  a  society,  that 
the  successors  of  Henri  IV.  and  Sully  are  yet  to 
be  found  ? 

Perhaps  the  reason  for  some  of  these  things  lay 
in  the  treason  of  this  same  Henri  IV.  He  was  a 
Protestant  at  heart,  and  put  on  the  Catholic  cloak 
in  order  to  wear  the  crown.  "  The  kingdom  of 
France,"  said  he,  or  one  of  his  admirers,  "  is  well 
worth  hearing  a  mass  or  two."  "  The  kingdom  of  the 

61 


Paris  world,"  said  Christ,  "  is  a  small  thing  for  a  man  to 
gain  in  exchange  for  the  kingdom  of  his  own  honest 
soul.0  Henri  IV.  made  this  bad  bargain  for  him 
self  and  for  France.  He  did  it,  doubtless,  in  view 
of  the  good  his  reign  might  bring  to  the  distracted 
country.  But  he  had  better  have  given  her  the 
example,  sole  and  illustrious,  of  the  most  brilliant 
man  of  the  time  putting  by  its  most  brilliant 
temptation,  and  taking  his  seat  low  on  the  ground 
with  those  whose  hard-earned  glory  it  is  to  perish 
for  conscience's  sake. 

But  the  great  King  is  dead,  long  since,  and  his 
true  legacy  —  his  wonderful  scheme  of  European 
liberation  and  pacification  —  has  only  been  repre 
sented  by  a  little  newspaper,  edited  in  Paris,  but 
published  in  Geneva,  and  called  The  United  States 
of  Europe. 

So  our  word  to  France  is :  Try  to  solve  the 
.  problem  of  modern  Europe  with  the  great  word 
which  Henri  IV.  said,  in  a  whisper,  to  his  other 
self,  the  minister  Sully.  Learn  that  social  forces  are 
balanced  first  by  being  allowed  to  exist.  Mutila 
tion  is  useless  in  a  world  in  which  God  continues 
to  be  the  Creator.  Every  babe  that  he  sends  into 
the  world  brings  with  it  a  protest  against  abso 
lutism.  The  babe,  the  nation,  may  be  robbed  of 
its  birthright;  but  God  sends  the  protest  still. 
And  France  did  terrible  wrong  to  the  protest  of  her 
own  humanity  when  she  suffered  her  Protestant 

62 


right  hand  to  be  cut  off,  and  a  great  part  of  her  Paris 
most  valuable  population  to  submit  to  the  alterna 
tive  of  exile  or  apostasy. 

So  mad  an  act  as  this  does  not  stand  on  the 
record  of  modern  times.  The  apostate  has  no 
spiritual  country ;  the  exile  has  no  geographical 
country.  The  men  who  are  faithful  to  their  reli 
gious  convictions  are  faithful  to  their  patriotic  du 
ties.  What  a  premium  was  set  upon  falsehood, 
what  a  price  upon  faith,  when  all  who  held  the 
supremacy  of  conscience  a  higher  fact  than  the 
supremacy  of  Rome  were  told  to  renounce  this 
confession  or  to  depart ! 

If  Paris  gives  to  our  mind  some  of  the  most 
brilliant  pictures  imaginable,  she  also  gives  us  some 
of  the  most  dismal.  While  her  drawing-rooms 
were  light  and  elegant,  her  streets  were  dark  and 
wicked.  Among  her  hungry  and  ignorant  popu 
lace,  Crime  planted  its  bitter  seeds  and  ripened  its 
bloody  crop.  Police  annals  show  us  that  Eugene 
Sue  has  not  exaggerated  the  truth  in  his  portraits 
of  the  vicious  population  of  the  great  city.  Lon 
don  has  its  hideous  dens  of  vice,  but  Paris  has,  too, 
its  wicked  institutions. 

Its  greatest  offences,  upon  which  I  can  only  touch, 
regard  the  relations  between  men  and  women.  Its 
police  regulations  bearing  upon  this  point  are  dis 
honoring  to  any  Christian  community.  Its  social 

63 


Paris  tone  in  this  respect  is  scarcely  better.  Men  who 
have  the  dress  and  appearance  of  gentlemen  will 
show  great  insolence  to  a  lady  who  dares  to  walk 
alone,  however  modestly.  Marriage  is  still  a  mat 
ter  of  bargain  and  interest,  and  the  modes  of  con 
duct  which  set  its  obligations  at  naught  are  more 
open  and  recognized  here  than  elsewhere.  The 
city  would  seem,  indeed,  to  be  the  great  market 
for  that  host  of  elegant  rebels  against  virtue  who 
are  willing  to  be  admired  without  being  respected, 
and  who,  with  splendid  clothes  and  poor  and  mean 
characteristics,  are  technically  called  the  demi-monde, 
the  half-world  of  Paris. 

The  corruption  of  young  men  and  young  women 
which  this  state  of  things  at  once  recognizes  and 
fosters  is  such  as  no  state  can  endure  without  griev 
ous  loss  of  its  manhood  and  womanhood.  The 
Turks  knew  their  power  when  they  could  compel 
from  the  Greeks  the  tribute  of  their  children,  to  be 
trained  as  Turks,  not  as  Christians.  Must  not  the 
Spirit  of  evil  in  like  manner  exult  at  his  hold  upon 
the  French  nation,  when  it  allows  him  to  enslave 
its  youth  so  largely,  consoling  itself  for  the  same 
with  a  shrug  at  the  inevitable  nature  of  human 
folly,  or  with  some  witty  saying  which  will  be  at 
once  acknowledgment  of  and  excuse  for  what  can 
not  be  justified  ? 

Gambling  has  been  one  of  the  crying  vices  of  the 
French  metropolis,  and  the  "  hells  "  of  Paris  were 

64 


familiarly  spoken  of  in  my  youth.  These  were  Paris 
the  gambling-houses,  in  that  day  among  the  most 
brilliant  and  ruinous  of  their  kind.  Government 
has  since  then  interfered  to  abolish  them.  Still,  I 
suppose  that  much  money  is  lost  and  won  at  play 
in  Paris.  From  this  and  other  irregularities,  many 
suicides  result.  One  sees  in  numerous  places  in 
Paris,  particularly  near  the  river,  placards  announc 
ing  "  help  to  the  drowned  and  asphyxiated,"  a 
plunge  into  the  Seine,  and  a  sitting  with  a  pan  of 
charcoal  being  the  favorite  methods  of  self-destruc 
tion.  All  have  heard  of  the  Morgue,  a  building 
in  which,  every  day,  the  lifeless  bodies  found  in  the 
river  are  exposed  upon  marble  slabs,  in  order  that 
the  friends  of  the  dead  —  if  they  have  any  —  may 
recognize  and  claim  them.  I  believe  that  this  sad 
place  is  rarely  without  its  appropriate  occupants. 

Through  the  kindness  of  our  minister,  I  was 
able,  some  years  since,  to  attend  more  than  one 
session  of  the  French  Parliament.  This  body,  like 
our  own  Congress,  consists  of  two  houses.  An 
outsider  does  not  see  any  difference  of  demeanor 
between  these  two.  An  American  visiting  either 
the  French  Senate  or  the  Chamber  of  Deputies 
will  be  surprised  at  the  noise  and  excitement  which 
prevail.  The  presiding  officer  agitates  his  bell 
again  and  again,  to  no  purpose.  He  constantly 
cries,  in  a  piteous  tone  :  "  Gentlemen,  a  little  si- 

65 


Paris  lence,  if  you  please."  In  the  Senate,  one  of  the 
ushers  with  great  pride  pointed  out  to  me  Victor 
Hugo  in  his  seat. 

I  have  seen  this  venerable  man  of  letters  several 
times,  —  once  in  his  own  house,  and  once  at  a  con 
gress  of  literary  people  in  Paris,  where,  as  president 
of  the  congress,  he  made  the  opening  address.  This 
he  read  from  a  manuscript,  in  a  sonorous  voice,  and 
with  much  dignity  of  manner.  He  was  heard  with 
great  interest,  and  was  interrupted  by  frequent 
applause. 

A  number  of  invitations  were  given  for  this  first 
meeting  of  the  literary  congress,  which  was  held  in 
one  of  the  largest  theatres  of  the  city.  I  had  been 
fortunate  enough  to  receive  one  of  these  cards,  but 
upon  seeking  for  admission  to  the  subsequent  sit 
tings  of  the  congress,  I  was  told  that  no  ladies  were 
admitted  to  them.  So  you  see  that  Lucy  Stone's 
favorite  assertion  that  "  women  are  people "  does 
not  hold  good  everywhere. 

An  esteemed  Parisian  friend  had  offered  me  an 
introduction  to  Victor  Hugo,  and  the  great  man 
had  signified  his  willingness  to  receive  a  visit  from 
me.  On  the  evening  appointed  for  this  visit,  I 
called  at  his  house,  accompanied  by  my  daughter. 
We  were  first  shown  into  an  anteroom,  and  pres 
ently  into  a  small  drawing-room,  of  which  the  walls 
and  furniture  were  covered  with  a  striped  satin 
material,  in  whose  colors  red  predominated.  The 

66 


venerable  viscount  kissed  my  hand  and  that  of  my  Paris 
young  companion  with  the  courtesy  belonging  to 
other  times  than  the  present.  He  was  of  middle 
height,  reasonably  stout.  His  eyes  were  dark  and 
expressive,  and  his  hair  and  beard  snow-white. 
Several  guests  were  present,  —  among  others,  the 
widow  of  one  of  his  sons,  recently  married  to  a  sec 
ond  husband. 

Victor  Hugo  seated  himself  alone  upon  a  sofa, 
and  talked  to  no  one.  While  the  rest  of  the  com 
pany  kept  up  a  desultory  conversation,  a  servant 
announced  M.  Louis  Blanc,  and  our  expectations 
were  raised  only  to  be  immediately  lowered,  for  at 
this  announcement  Victor  Hugo  arose  and  with 
drew  into  another  room,  from  which  we  were  able 
to  hear  the  two  voices  in  earnest  conversation,  but 
from  which  neither  gentleman  appeared.  Was  not 
this  disappointment  like  one  of  those  dreams  in 
which,  just  as  you  are  about  to  attain  some  object 
of  intense  desire,  the  power  of  sleep  deserts  you, 
and  you  awake  to  life's  plain  prose  ? 

The  shops  of  Paris  are  wonderfully  well  mounted 
and  well  served.  The  display  in  the  windows  is 
not  so  large  in  proportion  to  the  bulk  of  merchan 
dise  as  it  is  apt  to  be  with  us.  Still,  these  windows 
do  unfold  a  catalogue  of  temptations  longer  than 
that  of  Don  Giovanni's  sins. 

Among  them  all,  the  jewellers'  shops  attract 

67 


Paris  most.  The  love  of  human  beings  for  jewelry  is  a 
feature  almost  universal.  The  savage  will  give 
land  for  beads.  The  women  of  Christendom  will 
do  the  same  thing.  I  have  seen  fine  displays  of 
this  kind  in  London,  Rome,  and  Geneva.  But  in 
Paris,  these  exhibits  seem  to  characterize  a  certain 
vivid  passion  for  adornment,  which  is  kindled  and 
kept  alive  in  the  minds  of  French  women,  and  is 
by  them  communicated  to  the  feminine  world  at 
large. 

The  French  woman  of  condition  wears  nothing 
which  can  be  called  outre.  She  loves  costly  attire, 
but  her  taste,  and  that  of  her  costumer,  are  perfect. 
She  wears  the  most  delicate  and  harmonious  shades, 
and  the  most  graceful  forms.  She  never  carica 
tures  the  fashion  by  exaggerating  it.  English 
women  of  the  same  social  position  are  more  in 
clined  to  what  is  tawdry,  and  have  surely  a  less 
perfect  sense  of  color  and  adaptation. 

Parisians  are  very  homesick  people  when  obliged 
to  forsake  their  capital.  Madame  de  Stael,  in  full 
view  of  the  beautiful  lake  of  Geneva,  said  that  she 
would  much  prefer  a  view  of  the  gutter  in  the  Rue 
de  Bac,  which  in  her  day  had  not  the  attractions  of 
the  Bon  Marche  emporium,  so  powerful  to-day. 

I  should  deserve  ill  of  my  subject  if  I  failed  to 
say  that  the  great  issues  of  progress  are  to-day 
dearly  and  soberly  held  to  by  the  intelligence  of 

68 


the  French  people,  and  the  good  faith  of  their  rep-  Paris 
resentatives.     In  the  history  of  the  present  repub 
lic,  the  solid  interests  of  the  nation  have  slowly 
and  steadfastly  gained  ground. 

The  efforts  which  forward  these  seem  to  me  to 
culminate  in  the  measures  which  are  intended  at 
once  to  establish  popular  education  and  to  defend 
it  from  ecclesiastical  interference.  The  craze  for 
military  glory  is  also  yielding  before  the  march  of 
civilization,  and  the  ambitions  which  build  up 
society  are  everywhere  gaining  upon  the  passions 
which  destroy  it. 

In  the  last  forty-five  years,  the  social  relations  of 
France  to  the  civilized  world  have  undergone  much 
alteration.  The  magnificent  traditions  of  ancient 
royalty  have  become  entirely  things  of  the  past. 
The  genius  of  the  first  Napoleon  has  passed  out  of 
people's  minds.  The  social  prestige  of  France  is 
no  longer  appealed  to,  no  longer  felt. 

We  read  French  novels,  because  French  novel 
ists  have  an  admirable  style  of  narrating,  but  we 
no  longer  go  to  them  for  powerful  ideals  of  life 
and  character.  The  modern  world  has  outgrown 
the  Gallic  theories  of  sex.  We  are  tired  of  hearing 
about  the  women  whose  merit  consists  in  their  lov 
ing  everything  better  than  their  husbands.  In  this 
light  artillery  of  fashion  and  fiction,  France  no 
longer  holds  the  place  which  was  hers  of  old. 

In  losing  these    advantages,  she  has,   I   think, 


Paris  gained  better  things.  The  struggle  of  the  French 
people  to  establish  and  maintain  a  republic  in  the 
face  of  and  despite  monarchical  Europe  is  a  heroic 
one,  worthy  of  all  esteem  and  sympathy.  In  sci 
ence,  France  has  never  lost  her  eminence.  In 
serious  literature,  in  the  practical  philosophy  of 
history,  in  criticism  of  the  highest  order,  the 
French  are  still  masters  in  their  own  way.  Not 
withstanding  their  evil  legislation  regarding  women, 
their  medical  authorities  have  been  most  generous 
to  our  women  students  of  medicine.  Many  of 
these  have  crossed  the  Atlantic  to  seek  in  France 
that  clinical  study  and  observation  from  which 
they  have  been  in  great  measure  debarred  in  our 
own  country. 

There  is  still  much  bigotry  and  intolerance, 
much  shallow  scepticism  and  false  philosophy ; 
but  there  is  also,  underneath  all  this,  the  germ  of 
great  and  generous  qualities  which  place  the  nation 
high  in  the  scale  of  humanity. 

I  should  be  glad  to  bind  together  these  scattered 
statements  into  some  great,  instructive  lesson  for 
France  and  for  ourselves.  Perhaps  the  best  thing 
that  I  can  do  in  this  direction  will  be  to  suggest 
to  Americans  the  careful  study  of  French  history 
and  of  French  character.  The  great  divisions  of  the 
world  to-day  are  invaded  by  travel,  and  the  iron 
horse  carries  civilization  far  and  wide.  Many  of 
those  who  go  abroad  may,  however,  be  found  to 

70 


have  less  understanding  regarding  foreign  countries  Paris 
than  those  who  have  learned  all  that  may  be  learned 
concerning  them  from  history  and  literature.  To 
many  Americans,  Paris  is  little  more  than  the  place 
of  shops  and  of  fashions.  I  have  been  mortified 
sometimes  at  the  familiarity  which  our  travellers 
show  with  all  that  may  be  bought  and  sold  on  the 
other  side  of  the  ocean,  combined  with  an  arrant 
and  arrogant  ignorance  concerning  the  French  peo 
ple  and  the  country  in  which  they  live. 

Even  to  the  most  careful  observer,  the  French 
are  not  easy  to  be  understood.  The  most  oppo 
site  statements  may  be  made  about  them.  Some  call 
them  noble ;  others,  ignoble.  To  some,  they  ap 
pear  turbulent  and  ferocious  ;  to  others,  slavish  and 
cowardly.  Great  thinkers  do  not  judge  them  in 
this  offhand  way,  and  from  such  we  may  learn  to 
make  allowances  for  the  fact  that  monarchic  and 
aristocratic  rule  create  and  foster  great  inequalities 
of  character  and  intelligence  among  the  nations  in 
which  they  prevail.  Limitations  of  mind  and  of 
opinion  are  inherited  from  generations  which  have 
been  dwarfed  by  political  and  spiritual  despotism  ; 
and  in  such  countries,  the  success  of  liberal  insti 
tutions,  even  if  emphatically  assured,  is  but  slowly 
achieved  and  established. 

A  last  word  of  mine  shall  commend  this  Paris 
to  those  who  are  yet  to  visit  it.  Let  me  pray  such 
as  may  have  this  experience  not  to  suppose  that 

71 


Paris  they  have  read  the  wonderful  riddle  of  this  city's 
life  when  they  shall  have  seen  a  few  of  its  shops, 
palaces,  and  picture-galleries.  If  they  wish  to  un 
derstand  what  the  French  people  are,  and  why  they 
are  what  they  are,  they  will  have  to  study  history, 
politics,  and  human  nature  pretty  deeply. 

If  they  wish  to  have  an  idea  of  what  the  French 
may  become,  they  must  keep  their  faith  in  all  that 
America  finds  precious  and  invaluable,  —  in  free 
institutions,  in  popular  education,  and,  above  all, 
in  the  heart  of  the  people.  Never  let  them  believe 
that  while  freedom  ennobles  the  Anglo-Saxon,  it 
brutalizes  the  Gaul.  Despotism  brutalizes  for  long 
centuries,  and  freedom  cannot  ennoble  in  a  mo 
ment.  But  give  it  time  and  room,  and  it  will  en 
noble.  And  let  Americans  who  go  to  Paris  re 
member  that  they  should  there  represent  republican 
virtue  and  intelligence. 

How  far  this  is  from  being  the  case  some  of  us 
may  know,  and  others  guess.  Americans  who  visit 
Paris  very  generally  relax  their  rules  of  decorum 
and  indulge  in  practices  which  they  would  not  ven 
ture  to  introduce  at  home.  Hence  they  are  looked 
upon  with  some  disfavor  by  the  more  serious  part 
of  the  French  people,  while  the  frivolous  ridicule 
them  at  will.  But  I  could  wish  that,  in  visiting  a 
nation  to  whom  we  Americans  owe  so  much,  we 
could  think  of  something  besides  our  own  amuse 
ment  and  the  buying  of  pretty  things  to  adorn  our 

72 


persons  and  our  houses.  I  could  wish  that  we  Paris 
might  visit  schools,  prisons,  Protestant  churches, 
and  hear  something  of  the  chanties  and  reforms  of 
the  place,  and  of  what  the  best  thinkers  are  doing 
and  saying.  I  blush  to  think  of  the  gold  which 
Americans  squander  in  Paris,  and  of  the  bales  of 
merchandise  of  all  sorts  which  we  carry  away.  Far 
better  would  it  be  if  we  made  friends  with  the  best 
people,  exchanging  with  them  our  best  thought  and 
experience,  helping  and  being  helped  by  them  in 
the  good  works  which  redeem  the  world.  Better 
than  the  full  trunk  and  empty  purse,  which  usu 
ally  mark  a  return  from  Paris,  will  be  a  full  heart 
and  a  hand  clasping  across  the  water  another  hand, 
pure  and  resolute  as  itself,  —  the  hand  of  progress, 
the  hand  of  order,  the  hand  of  brotherly  kindness 
and  charity. 


73 


Greece    Revisited 


Greece   Revisited 

TSPEAK    of  a    country    to    which    all    civilized 
Acountries  are  deeply  indebted. 

The  common  speech  of  Europe  and  America 
shows  this.  In  whatever  way  the  languages  of  the 
western  world  have  been  woven  and  got  together, 
they  all  show  here  and  there  some  golden  gleam 
which  carries  us  back  to  the  Hellenic  tongue. 
Philosophy,  science,  and  common  thought  alike 
borrow  their  phraseology  from  this  ancient  source. 

I  need  scarcely  say  by  what  a  direct  descent  all 
arts  may  claim  to  have  been  recreated  by  Greek 
genius,  nor  can  I  exaggerate  the  importance  of  the 
Greek  poets,  philosophers,  and  historians  in  the 
history  of  literature.  Rules  of  correct  thinking 
and  writing,  the  nice  balance  of  rhetoric,  the  meth 
ods  of  oratory,  the  notions  of  polity,  of  the  corre 
lations  of  social  and  national  interests,  —  in  all  of 
these  departments  the  Greeks  may  claim  to  have 
been  our  masters,  and  may  call  us  their  slow  and 
blundering  pupils. 

A  wide  interval  lies  between  these  glories  and 
the  Greece  of  to-day.  Nations,  like  individuals, 
have  their  period  of  growth  and  decay,  their  limit 
of  life,  which  human  devices  seem  unable  to  pro- 

77 


Greece  long.  But  while  systems  of  government  and  social 
Revisited  organization  change,  race  perseveres.  The  Greeks, 
like  the  Hebrews,  when  scattered  and  powerless  at 
home,  have  been  potent  abroad.  Deprived  for 
centuries  of  political  and  national  existence,  the 
spirit  of  their  immortal  literature,  the  power  of 
their  subtle  and  ingenious  mind,  have  leavened  and 
fashioned  the  mind,  not  of  Europe  only,  but  of  the 
thinking  world. 

Let  us  recall  the  briefest  outline  of  the  story. 
The  states  of  ancient  Greece,  always  divided  among 
themselves,  in  time  invited  the  protection  of  the 
Roman  Empire,  hoping  thereby  to  attain  peace 
and  tranquillity.  Rome  of  to-day  shows  how  her 
officials  of  old  plundered  the  temples  and  galleries 
of  the  Greeks,  while  her  literary  men  admired  and 
imitated  the  Hellenic  authors. 

At  a  later  day,  the  beauty  of  the  Orient  seduced 
the  stern  heart  of  Roman  patriotism.  A  second 
Rome  was  built  on  the  shores  of  the  Bosphorus,  — 
a  city  whose  beauty  of  position  excelled  even  the 
dignity  of  the  seven  hills.  Greek  and  Roman,  east 
ern  and  western,  became  mingled  and  blent  in  a  con 
fusion  with  which  the  most  patient  scholar  finds  it 
difficult  to  deal.  Then  came  a  political  division, 
—  eastern  and  western  empires,  eastern  and  western 
churches,  the  Bishop  of  Rome  and  the  Patriarch  of 
Constantinople.  Other  great  changes  follow.  The 
western  empire  crumbles,  takes  form  again  under 


Charlemagne,  finally  disappears.  The  eastern  em-  Greece 
pire  follows  it.  The  Turk  plants  his  standard  on  Revisited 
the  shores  of  the  Bosphorus.  The  sacred  city 
falls  into  his  hands,  without  contradiction,  so  far 
as  Europe  is  concerned.  The  veil  of  a  dark  and 
bloody  barbarism  hides  the  monuments  of  a  most 
precious  civilization.  It  is  the  age  of  blood.  The 
nations  of  Western  Europe  have  still  the  faith  and 
the  attributes  of  bandits.  The  Turkish  ataghan  is 
stronger  than  the  Greek  pen  and  chisel.  The  new 
race  has  a  military  power  of  which  the  old  could 
only  faintly  dream. 

And  so  the  last  Constantine  falls,  and  Mahmoud 
sweeps  from  earth  the  traces  of  his  reign.  In  the 
old  Church  of  St.  Sophia,  now  the  Mosque  of 
Omar,  men  show  to-day,  far  up  on  one  of  the  col 
umns,  the  impress  of  the  conqueror's  bloody  hand, 
which  could  only  strike  so  high  because  the  floor 
beneath  was  piled  fathom-deep  with  Christian 
corpses. 

Another  period  follows.  The  Turk  establishes 
himself  in  his  new  domain,  and  employs  the  Greek 
to  subjugate  the  Greek.  Upon  each  Greek  family 
the  tribute  of  a  male  child  is  levied ;  and  this  child 
is  bred  up  in  Turkish  ways,  and  taught  to  turn  his 
weapon  against  the  bosom  of  his  mother  country. 
From  these  babes  of  Christian  descent  was  formed 
the  corps  of  the  Janissaries,  a  force  so  dangerous 
and  deadly  that  the  representative  of  Turkish  rule 

79 


Greece  was  forced  at  a  later  day  to  plan  and  accomplish  its 
Revisited  destruction. 

The  name  "  Greek  "  in  this  time  no  longer  sug 
gested  a  nation.  I  myself,  in  my  childhood,  knew 
a  young  Greek,  escaped  from  the  massacres  of  Scio, 
who  told  me  that  when,  having  learned  English,  he 
heard  himself  spoken  of  as  "  the  Greek,"  his  first 
thought  was  that  those  who  so  spoke  of  him  were 
waiting  to  cut  his  throat. 

Now  follows  another  epoch.  Western  Europe 
is  busied  in  getting  a  little  civilization.  Baptized 
mostly  by  force,  vi  et  armis,  she  has  still  to  be 
Christianized :  she  has  America  to  discover  and  to 
settle.  She  has  to  go  to  school  to  the  ghosts  of 
Greece  and  Arabia,  in  order  to  have  a  grammar  and 
to  learn  arithmetic.  There  are  some  wars  of  relig 
ion,  endless  wars  for  territorial  aggrandizement. 
Europe  is  still  a  congress  of  the  beasts,  —  lion, 
tiger,  boar,  rhinoceros,  all  snared  together  by  the 
tortuous  serpent  of  diplomacy. 

I  pause,  for  out  of  this  dark  time  came  your  ex 
istence  and  mine.  A  small  barque  crosses  the  sea ; 
a  canoe  steals  toward  the  issue  of  a  mighty  river. 
Such  civilization  as  Europe  has  plants  itself  out 
in  a  new  country,  in  a  virgin  soil ;  and  in  the  new 
domain  are  laid  the  foundations  of  an  empire  whose 
greatness  is  destined  to  reside  in  her  peaceful  and 
beneficent  offices.  Her  task  it  shall  be  to  feed  the 
starving  emigrant,  to  give  land  and  free  citizenship 

80 


to  those  dispossessed  of  both  by  the  greed  of  the  Greece 
old  feudal  systems.  Revisited 

In  the  fulness  of  this  young  nation's  life,  a  cry 
arose  from  that  ancient  mother  of  arts  and  sciences. 
The  Greek  had  arisen  from  his  long  sleep,  had 
become  awake  to  the  fact  that  civilization  is  more 
potent  than  barbarism.  Strong  in  this  faith,  Greece 
had  closed  in  a  death  struggle  with  the  assassin  of 
her  national  life.  Through  the  enthusiasm  of  in 
dividuals,  not  through  the  policy  of  governments, 
the  desperate,  heroic  effort  received  aid.  From  the 
night  of  ages,  from  the  sea  of  blood,  Greece  arose, 
shorn  of  her  fair  proportions,  pointing  to  her 
ruined  temples,  her  mutilated  statues,  her  dis 
honored  graves. 

Americans  may  be  thankful  that  this  strange 
resurrection  was  not  beheld  by  our  fathers  with 
indifference.  From  their  plenty,  a  duteous  tribute 
more  than  once  went  forth  to  feed  and  succor  the 
country  to  which  all  owe  so  much.  And  so  an 
American,  to-day,  can  look  upon  the  Acropolis 
without  a  blush  —  though  scarcely  without  a  tear. 

Contenting  myself  with  this  brief  retrospect,  I 
must  turn  from  the  page  of  history  to  the  record 
of  individual  experience. 

My  first  visit  to  Athens  was  in  the  year  1867. 
The  Cretans  were  at  this  time  engaged  in  an 
energetic  struggle  for  their  freedom,  and  my  hus 
band  was  the  bearer  of  certain  funds  which  he 

81 


Greece  and  others  had  collected  in  America  for  the  relief 
Revisited  of  the  destitute  families  of  the  insurgents.  A  part 
of  this  money  was  employed  in  sending  provisions 
to  the  Island  of  Crete,  where  the  women  and  chil 
dren  had  taken  refuge  in  the  fortresses  of  the  mount 
ains,  subject  to  great  privations,  and  in  danger  of 
absolute  starvation. 

With  the  remainder  of  the  fund,  schools  were 
endowed  in  Athens  for  the  children  of  the  Cretan 
refugees.  My  husband's  efforts  were  seconded  by 
an  able  Greek  committee ;  and  when,  at  the  close 
of  his  labors,  he  turned  his  face  homeward,  he  was 
followed  by  the  prayers  and  thanksgivings  of  those 
whose  miseries  he  had  been  enabled  to  relieve. 

Nearly  ten  years  later  than  the  time  just  spoken 
of,  I  again  threaded  my  way  between  the  isles  of 
Greece  and  arrived  at  the  Piraeus,  the  ancient  port 
of  Athens.  A  railway  now  connects  these  two 
points  ;  but  on  this  occasion,  we  did  not  avail  our 
selves  of  it,  preferring  to  take  a  carriage  for  the 
short  distance. 

In  approaching  Athens  for  the  second  time,  my 
first  surprise  was  to  find  that  it  had  grown  to  nearly 
double  the  size  which  I  remembered  ten  years  be 
fore.  The  cleanly,  thrifty,  and  cheerful  aspect  of 
the  city  presented  the  greatest  contrast  to  the  squa 
lor  and  filth  of  Constantinople,  which  I  had  just 
left.  The  perfect  blue  of  the  heavens  brought  out 

82 


in  fine  effect  the  white  marble  of  the  new  buildings,  Greece 
some  of  which  are   costly  and   even  magnificent.  Revisited 
Yet  there,  in  full  sight,  towering  above  everything 
else,  stood  the  unattainable  beauty,  the  unequalled, 
unrivalled  Parthenon. 

I  made  several  pilgrimages  to  the  Acropolis, 
eager  to  revive  my  recollection  respecting  the 
design  and  history  of  its  various  monuments.  I 
listened  again  and  again  to  the  statements  of  well- 
read  archaeologists  concerning  the  uses  of  the  tem 
ples,  the  positions  of  the  statues  and  bas-reliefs, 
the  hundred  gates,  and  the  triumphal  road  which 
led  up  to  the  height  crowned  with  glories. 

But  while  I  gave  ear  to  what  is  more  easily  for 
gotten  than  remembered,  —  the  story  of  the  long- 
vanished  past,  —  my  eyes  received  the  impression 
of  a  beauty  that  cannot  perish.  I  did  not  say  to 
the  Parthenon  :  Thou  wert,  but,  Thou  art  so  beau 
tiful,  in  thy  perfect  proportion,  in  thy  fine  work 
manship  ! 

What  silver  chisel  turned  the  tender  leaves  of 
this  marble  foliage  ?  Here  is  a  little  bit,  a  yard  or 
so,  which  has  escaped  the  gnawing  of  the  elements, 
lying  turned  away  from  the  course  of  the  winds  and 
rains  !  No  king  of  to-day,  in  building  his  palace, 
can  order  such  a  piece  of  work.  Artist  he  can  find 
none  to  equal  it.  And  I  am  proud  to  say  that  no 
king  nor  millionaire  to-day  can  buy  this,  or  any 

83 ' 


Greece  other  fragment  belonging  to  this  sacred  spot.  What 
Revisited  England  took  before  Greece  became  a  power  again, 
she  may  keep,  because  the  British  Museum  is  a 
treasure-house  for  the  world.  But  she  will  never 
repeat  the  theft :  she  is  too  wise  to-day.  Christen 
dom  is  too  wise,  and  the  Greeks  have  learned  the 
value  of  what  they  still  possess. 

At  the  Acropolis,  the  theatre  of  Bacchus  had 
been  excavated  a  short  time  before  my  previous 
visit.  Near  it  they  have  now  brought  to  light 
the  temple  of  ^Esculapius.  This  temple,  with  the 
theatre  of  Bacchus  and  that  of  Herodius  Atticus, 
occupies  the  base  of  the  Acropolis,  on  the  side 
that  looks  toward  the  sea. 

As  one  stands  in  the  light  of  the  perfect  sky, 
discerning  in  the  distance  that  perfect  sea,  some 
thing  of  the  cheerfulness  of  the  ancient  Greeks 
makes  itself  felt,  seems  to  pervade  the  landscape. 
Descending  to  the  theatre  of  Bacchus,  the  visitor 
may  call  up  in  his  mind  the  vision  of  the  high 
feast  of  mirth  and  hilarity.  Here  was  the  stage ; 
here  are,  still  entire,  the  marble  seats  occupied  by 
the  priests  and  other  high  dignitaries,  with  one  or 
two  interesting  bas-reliefs  of  the  god. 

When  I  visited  Greece  in  1867,  I  found  no 
proper  museum  containing  the  precious  fragments 
and  works  of  art  still  left  to  the  much-plundered 
country.  Some  of  these  were  preserved  in  the 

84   ' 


Theseion,  a  fine  temple  well  known  to  many  by  Greece 
engravings.    They  were,  however,  very  ill-arranged,  Revisited 
and  could  not  be  seen  with  comfort.     I  now  found 
all  my  old  favorites  and  many  others  enshrined  in 
the  three  museums  which  had  been  added  to  the 
city  during  my  absence. 

One  of  them  is  called  the  Barbakion.  It  con 
tains,  among  other  things,  a  number  of  very  ancient 
vases,  on  one  of  which  the  soul  is  represented  by 
a  female  figure  with  wings.  Among  these  vases  is 

i       •  r        'i 

a  series  relating  to  family  events,  one  showing  a 
funeral,  one  a  nativity,  while  two  others  commemo 
rate  a  bridal  occasion.  In  one  of  these  last,  the 
bride  sits  holding  Eros  in  her  arms,  while  her 
attendants  present  the  wedding  gifts  ;  in  the  other, 
moves  the  bridal  procession,  accompanied  by  music. 
Here  are  preserved  many  small  figures  in  clay,  com 
monly  spoken  of  in  Greece  as  the  Tanagra  dolls. 
A  fine  collection  of  these  has  been  given  to  the 
Boston  Art  Museum  by  a  well-known  patron  of 
all  arts,  the  late  Thomas  G.  Appleton.  Here  we 
saw  a  cremating  pot  of  bronze,  containing  the 
charred  remains  of  a  human  body.  I  afterwards 
saw  —  at  the  Keramika,  an  ancient  cemetery  —  the 
stone  vase  from  which  this  pot  was  taken. 

Among  the  objects  shown  at  this  museum  was  a 
beautiful  set  of  gold  jewelry  found  in  the  cemetery 
just  mentioned.  It  consisted  of  armlets,  bracelets, 

85 


Greece  ear-rings,  and  a  number  of  finger-rings,  among 
Revisited  which  was  one  of  the  coiled  serpents  so  much  in 
vogue  to-day.  I  found  here  some  curious  flat-bot 
tomed  pitchers,  with  a  cocked-hat  cover  nicely  fitted 
on.  This  Greek  device  may  have  supplied  the  pat 
tern  for  the  first  cocked  hat, —  Dr.  Holmes  has  told 
us  about  the  last. 

But  nothing  in  this  collection  impressed  me  more 
than  did  an  ancient  mask  cast  from  a  dead  face. 
This  mask  had  lately  been  made  to  serve  as  a  ma 
trix  ;  and  a  plaster  cast,  newly  taken  from  it,  gave 
us  clearly  the  features  and  expression  of  the  coun 
tenance,  which  was  removed  from  us  by  aeons  of 
time. 

A  second  museum  is  that  built  at  the  Acropolis, 
which  contains  many  fragments  of  sculpture,  among 
which  I  recognized  a  fine  bas-relief  representing 
three  women  carrying  water-jars,  and  a  small  figure 
of  wingless  Victory,  both  of  which  I  had  seen 
twelve  years  before,  exposed  to  the  elements. 

But  the  principal  museum  of  the  city,  a  fine 
building  of  dazzling  white  marble,  is  the  patriotic 
gift  of  a  wealthy  Greek,  who  devoted  to  this  object 
a  great  part  of  his  large  fortune.  In  this  building 
are  arranged  a  number  of  the  ancient  treasures 
brought  to  light  through  the  persevering  labors  of 
Dr.  and  Mrs.  Schliemann.  As  the  doctor  has  pub 
lished  a  work  giving  a  detailed  account  of  these  ar 
ticles,  I  will  mention  only  a  few  of  them. 

86 


Very  curious  in  form  are  the  gold  cups  found  in  Greece 
the  treasury  of  Agamemnon.  They  are  shaped  a  Revisited 
little  like  a  flat  champagne  glass,  but  do  not  expand 
at  the  base,  standing  somewhat  insecurely  upon  the 
termination  of  their  stems.  Here,  too,  are  masks 
of  thin  beaten  gold,  which  have  been  laid  upon  the 
faces  of  the  dead.  Rings,  ear-rings,  brooches,  and 
necklaces  there  are  in  great  variety  ;  among  the 
first,  two  gold  signet  rings  of  marked  beauty.  I 
remember,  also,  several  sets  of  ornaments,  resem 
bling  buttons,  in  gold  and  enamel. 

From  the  main  building,  we  passed  into  a  fine 
gallery  filled  with  sculptures,  many  of  which  are 
monumental  in  character.  I  will  here  introduce 
two  pages  from  my  diary,  written  almost  on  the 
spot : — 

Nothing  that  I  have  seen  in  Athens  or  elsewhere  impresses 
me  like  the  Greek  marbles  which  I  saw  yesterday  in  the  museum, 
most  of  which  have  been  found  and  gathered  since  my  visit  in 
1867.  A  single  monumental  slab  had  then  been  excavated, 
which,  with  the  help  of  Pausanias,  identified  the  site  of  the 
ancient  Keramika,  a  place  of  burial.  Here  have  been  found 
many  tombs  adorned  with  bas-reliefs,  with  a  number  of  vases  and 
several  statues.  How  fortunate  has  been  the  concealment  of 
these  works  of  art  until  our  time,  by  which,  escaping  Roman 
rapacity  and  Turkish  barbarism,  they  have  survived  the  wreck  of 
ages,  to  show  us,  to-day,  the  spirit  of  family  life  among  the 
ancient  Greeks  !  Italy  herself  possesses  no  Greek  relics  equal 
in  this  respect  to  those  which  I  contemplated  yesterday.  For 
any  student  of  art  or  of  history,  it  is  worth  crossing  the  ocean 
and  encountering  all  fatigues  to  read  this  imperishable  record  of 

87 


Greece        human  sentiment  and  relation ;  for  while  the  works  of  ancient 

r>      •  't  d  art  alreacty  ^miliar  to  the  public  show  us  the  artistic  power  and 

KeviSlte     ^c  ^^^  oj-  keautv  wjth  which  this  people  were  so  marvellously 

endowed,  these  marbles  make  evident  the  feelings  with  which 

they  regarded  their  dead. 

Perhaps  the  first  lesson  one  draws  from  their  contemplation  is 
the  eternity,  so  to  speak,  of  the  family  affections.  No  words  nor 
work  have  ever  portrayed  a  regard  more  tender  than  is  shown  in 
these  family  groups,  in  which  the  person  about  to  depart  is  rep 
resented  in  a  sitting  posture,  while  his  nearest  friends  or  relatives 
stand  near,  expressing  in  their  countenances  and  action  the  sorrow 
and  pathos  of  the  final  separation.  Here  an  aged  father  gives  the 
last  blessing  to  the  son  who  survives  and  mourns  him.  Here  a 
dying  mother  reclines,  surrounded  by  a  group  of  friends,  one  of 
whom  bears  in  her  arms  the  infant  whose  birth,  presumably,  cost 
the  mother  her  life.  Two  other  slabs  represent  partings  between 
a  mother  and  her  child.  In  one  of  these  the  young  daughter 
holds  to  her  bosom  a  dove,  in  token  of  the  innocence  of  her  ten 
der  age.  In  the  other,  the  mother  is  bending  over  the  daughter 
with  a  sweet,  sad  seriousness.  Other  groups  show  the  parting  of 
husband  and  wife,  friend  from  friend  ;  and  I  now  recall  one  of 
these  in  which  the  expression  of  the  clasped  hands  of  two  indi 
viduals  excels  in  tenderness  anything  that  I  have  ever  seen  in 
paint  or  marble.  The  Greeks,  usually  so  reserved  in  their  por 
trayal  of  nature,  seem  in  these  instances  to  have  laid  aside  the 
calm  cloak  of  restraint  which  elsewhere  enwrapped  them,  in  order 
to  give  permanent  expression  to  the  tender  and  beautiful  associ 
ations  which  hallow  death. 


TWO   DRAMAS 


In  the  Bacchus  theatre, 

With  the  wreck  of  countless  years, 
The  thought  of  the  ancient  jollity 

Moved  me  almost  to  tears. 

88 


Bacchus,  the  god  who  brightens  life  Greece 

With  sudden,  rosy  gleam  Re-visited 

Lighting  the  hoary  face  or  Age 
With  Youth's  surpassing  dream, 

The  tide  that  swells  the  human  heart 

With  inspiration  high, 
Ebbing  and  sinking  at  sunset  fall 

To  dim  eternity. 


In  the  halls  where  treasured  lie 

The  monumental  stones 
That  stood  where  men  no  longer  leave 

The  mockery  of  their  bones, 

Why  did  I  smile  at  the  marble  griefs 

Who  wept  for  the  bygone  joy  ? 
Within  that  sorrow  dwells  a  good 

That  Time  can  ne'er  destroy. 

Th'  immortal  depths  of  sympathy 

All  measurements  transcend, 
And  in  man's  living  marble  seal 

The  love  he  bears  his  friend. 

It  would  take  me  long  to  tell  how  much  Athens 
has  been  enriched  by  the  munificence  of  her  wealthy 
merchants,  whose  shrewdness  and  skill  in  trade  are 
known  all  over  the  world.  Of  some  of  these,  dy 
ing  abroad,  the  words  may  well  be  quoted  :  "  Mori- 
ens  reminiscitur  Argos"  as  they  have  bequeathed  for 
the  benefit  of  their  beloved  city  the  sums  of  money 

' 


Greece  which  have  a  permanent  representation  in  the  pub- 
Revisited  lie  buildings  I  have  mentioned,  and  many  others. 
Better  still  than  this,  a  number  of  individuals  of 
this  class  have  returned  to  Greece,  to  end  their  days 
beneath  their  native  skies,  and  the  social  resources 
of  the  metropolis  are  enlarged  by  their  presence. 

This  leads  us  to  what  may  interest  many  more 
than  statements  concerning  buildings  and  antiqui 
ties,  —  the  social  aspect  of  Athens. 

The  court  and  high  society,  or  what  is  called 
such,  asks  our  first  attention.  The  royal  palace, 
a  very  fine  one,  was  built  by  King  Otho.  The 
present  King  and  Queen  are  very  simple  in  their 
tastes.  One  meets  them  walking  among  the  ruins 
and  elsewhere  in  plain  dress,  with  no  other  escort 
than  a  large  dog.  The  visit  which  I  now  describe 
took  place  in  Carnival  time,  and  we  heard,  on  our 
arrival,  of  a  court  ball,  for  which  we  soon  received 
cards.  We  were  admonished  by  the  proper  parties 
to  come  to  the  palace  before  nine  o'clock,  in  order 
that  we  might  be  in  the  ball-room  before  the  en 
trance  of  the  King  and  Queen.  We  repaired  thither 
accordingly,  and,  passing  through  a  hall  lined  with 
officials  and  servants  in  livery,  ascended  the  grand 
staircase,  and  were  soon  in  a  very  elegant  ball-room, 
well  filled  with  a  creditable  beau  monde.  The  ser 
vants  of  the  palace  all  wore  Palikari  costume,  — 
the  white  skirt  and  full-sleeved  shirt,  with  embroid 
ered  vest  and  leggings.  The  ladies  present  were 

9° 


attired  with  a  due  regard  for  Paris  in  general,  and  Greece 
for   Worth    in    particular.      The  gentlemen  were  Revisited 
either  in  uniform,  or  in  that  inexpressibly  sleek  and 
mournful  costume  which  is  called  "  evening  dress." 

We  were  presently  introduced  to  the  maids  of 
honor,  one  of  whom  bore  the  historic  name  of 
Kolokotronis.  They  were  dressed  in  white,  and 
wore  badges  on  which  the  crown  and  the  King's 
initial  letter  were  wrought  in  small  brilliants.  Many 
of  the  ladies  displayed  beautiful  diamonds. 

Presently  a  hush  fell  on  the  rapidly  talking  as 
sembly.  People  ranged  themselves  in  a  large  cir 
cle,  and  the  sovereigns  entered.  The  Queen  wore 
a  dress  of  white  tulle  embroidered  with  red  over 
white  silk,  and  a  garland  of  flowers  in  which  the 
same  color  predominated.  Her  corsage  was 
adorned  with  knots  of  diamonds  and  rubies,  and 
she  wore  a  complete  parure  of  the  same  costly 
stones.  Their  majesties  made  the  round  of  the 
circle.  We,  as  strangers,  were  at  once  presented  to 
the  Queen,  who  with  great  affability  said  to  me : 
<c  I  hear  that  you  have  been  in  Egypt,  and  that  your 
daughter  ascended  the  great  Pyramid."  I  made  as 
low  a  courtesy  as  was  consistent  with  my  dignity  as 
president  of  a  number  of  clubs.  One  or  two  fur 
ther  remarks  were  interchanged,  and  the  lovely, 
gracious  blonde  moved  on. 

When  the  presentations  and  salutations  were 
over,  the  royal  pair  proceeded  to  open  the  ball,  hav- 

91 


Greece  ing  each  some  high  and  mighty  partner  for  the  first 
Revisited  contredanse.  The  Queen  is  very  fond  of  dancing, 
and  is  happier  than  some  other  queens  in  being  al 
lowed  to  waltz  to  her  heart's  content. 

There  were  at  the  ball  three  of  our  fellow-coun 
trymen  who  could  dance.  Two  of  them  wore  the 
uniform  of  our  navy,  and  had  kept  it  very  fresh 
and  brilliant.  These  Terpsichorean  gentlemen  were 
matched  by  three  ladies  well  versed  in  the  tactics  of 
the  German.  Suddenly  a  swanlike,  circling  move 
ment  began  to  distinguish  itself  from  the  quick, 
hopping,  German  waltz  which  prevails  everywhere 
in  Europe.  People  looked  on  with  surprise,  which 
soon  brightened  into  admiration.  And  if  any  one 
had  said  to  me  :  "  What  is  that,  mother  ?  "  I  should 
have  replied  :  "  The  Boston,  my  child." 

Lest  the  Queen's  familiarity  with  my  movements 
should  be  thought  to  imply  some  previous  ac 
quaintance  between  us,  I  must  venture  a  few  words 
of  explanation. 

In  the  first  place,  I  must  mention  a  friend,  Mr. 
Paraskevai'des,  who  had  been  very  helpful  to  Dr. 
Howe  and  myself  on  the  occasion  of  our  visit  to 
Athens  in  1867.  This  gentleman  was  one  of  the 
first  to  greet  my  daughter  and  myself,  when  she,, 
for  the  first,  and  I,  for  the  second  time,  arrived  in 
Athens.  It  was  from  him  that  we  heard  of  the 
court  ball  just  mentioned,  and  through  him  that  we 
received  the  cards  enabling  us  to  attend  it.  I  had 

92 


given  Mr.  Paraskevaides  a  copy  of  the  Woman  s  Greece 
Journal,  published  in  Boston,  containing  a  letter  of  Revisited 
mine  describing  a  recent  visit  to  Cairo  and  the  Pyr 
amids.  Our  friend  called  at  the  palace  to  speak  of 
my  presence  in  Athens  to  the  proper  authorities, 
and  by  chance  encountered  the  Queen  as  she  was 
stepping  into  her  carriage  for  a  drive.  He  told 
her  that  the  widow  and  daughter  of  Dr.  Howe 
would  attend  the  evening's  ball.  She  asked  what 
he  held  in  his  hand.  "  A  paper,  printed  in  Boston, 
containing  a  letter  written  by  Mrs.  Howe."  "  Lend 
it  to  me/  said  the  Queen.  "  I  wish  to  read  Mrs. 
Howe's  letter."  Thus  it  was  that  the  Queen  was 
able  to  greet  me  with  so  pleasant  a  mark  of  interest. 
The  King  and  Queen  withdrew  just  before  sup 
per  was  announced,  which  was  very  considerate  on 
their  part ;  for,  as  royal  personages  may  not  eat 
with  others,  we  could  not  have  had  our  supper  if 
they  had  not  taken  theirs  elsewhere.  We  were  then 
escorted  to  the  banquet  hall,  where  were  spread  a 
number  of  tables,  at  which  the  guests  stood,  and 
regaled  themselves  with  such  customary  viands  as 
cold  chicken,  salad,  sandwiches,  ices,  and  fruit. 
All  of  the  usual  wines  were  served  in  profusion, 
with  nice  black  coffee  to  keep  people  awake  for  the 
German,  or,  as  it  is  called  in  Europe,  the  cotillon. 
And  presently  we  marched  back  to  the  ball-room, 
and  the  sovereigns  re-appeared.  The  Germanises 
took  chairs,  the  chaperons  kept  their  modest  dis- 

93 


Greece  tance,  and  the  thing  that  hath  no  end  began,  the 
Revisited  Queen  making  the  first  loop  in  the  mazy  weaving 
of  the  dance.  The  next  thing  that  I  remember 
was,  three  o'clock  in  the  morning,  a  sleepy  drive  in 
a  carriage,  and  the  talk  that  you  always  hear  going 
home  from  a  party.  Now,  I  ask,  was  not  this  or 
thodox  ? 

This  being  the  gay  season  of  the  year,  we  were 
present  at  various  festivities  whose  elegance  would 
have  done  honor  to  London  or  Paris.  I  particu 
larly  remember,  among  these,  a  fancy  ball  at  the 
house  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Zyngros.  Our  hostess  was 
a  beautiful  woman,  and  looked  every  inch  a  queen, 
as  she  stood  at  the  head  of  her  stately  marble  stair 
way,  in  the  gold  and  crimson  costume  of  Catherine 
de  Medici.  The  ball-room  was  thronged  with 
Spanish  gipsies,  Elizabethan  nobles,  harlequins, 
Arcadian  shepherds,  and  Greek  peasants.  I  may 
also  mention  another  ball,  at  which  a  band  of 
maskers  made  their  appearance,  splendidly  attired, 
and  voluble  with  the  squeaking  tone  which  usually 
accompanies  a  mask.  The  master  and  mistress  of 
the  house  were  prepared  for  this  interruption, 
which  added  greatly  to  the  gaiety  of  the  occasion. 

I  have  given  a  little  outline  of  these  gay  doings, 
in  order  that  you  may  know  that  the  modern 
Athens  is  entitled  to  boast  that  she  possesses  all 
the  appliances  of  civilization.  Now  let  me  say  a 

94 


few  words  of  things  more  interesting  to  people  of  Greece 
thoughtful  minds.  Revisited 

I  remember  with  great  pleasure  an  evening  passed 
beneath  the  roof  of  Dr.  and  Mrs.  Schliemann. 
Well  known  as  is  Dr.  Schliemann  by  reputation,  it 
is  less  generally  known  that  his  wife,  a  Greek 
woman,  has  had  very  much  to  do  with  both  his 
studies  and  the  success  of  his  excavations.  She  is 
considered  in  Greece  a  woman  of  unusual  culture, 
being  well  versed  in  the  ancient  literature  of  her 
country.  I  was  present  once  at  a  lecture  which 
she  gave  in  London,  before  the  Royal  Historical 
Society.  At  the  close  of  the  lecture,  Lord  Talbot 
de  Malahide  announced  that  Mrs.  Schliemann  had 
been  elected  a  member  of  the  society.  The  Duke 
of  Argyll  was  present  on  this  occasion,  and  among 
those  who  commented  upon  the  opinions  advanced 
in  the  lecture  was  Mr.  Gladstone.  Mrs.  Schlie 
mann,  however,  bears  her  honors  very  modestly, 
and  is  a  charming  hostess,  gracious  and  friendly, 
thoroughly  liked  and  esteemed  in  this  her  native 
country,  and  elsewhere. 

The  soiree  at  Mrs.  Schliemann's  was  merely  a  con 
ventional  reception,  with  dancing  to  the  music  of 
a  pianoforte.  We  were  informed  that  our  hostess 
was  suffering  from  the  fatigues  undergone  in  assist 
ing  her  husband's  labors,  and  that  the  music  and 
dancing  were  introduced  to  spare  her  the  strain  of 

95 


Greece  overmuch  conversation.  She  was  able,  however, 
Revisited  to  receive  morning  visitors  on  one  day  of  every 
week,  and  I  took  advantage  of  this  opportunity  to 
see  her  again.  I  spoke  of  her  little  boy,  a  child 
of  two  years,  who  had  been  pointed  out  to  me  in 
the  Park,  by  my  friend  Paras kevaides.  He  bore 
the  grandiose  name  of  Agamemnon.  Presently  we 
heard  the  voice  of  a  child  below  stairs,  and  Mrs. 
Schliemann  said:  "That  is  my  baby;  he  has  just 
come  in  with  his  nurse."  I  asked  that  we  might 
see  him,  and  the  nurse  brought  him  into  the  draw 
ing-room.  At  sight  of  us,  he  began  to  kick  and 
scream.  Wishing  to  soothe  him,  I  said :  "  Poor 
little  Agamemnon  !"  Mrs.  Schliemann  rejoined: 
"  I  say,  nasty  little  Agamemnon  !  " 

Is  it  to  be  supposed  that  I  entered  and  left  Ath 
ens  without  uttering  the  cabalistic  word  "  club  "  ? 
By  no  means.  I  found  myself  one  day  invited  to 
speak  to  a  number  of  ladies,  at  a  friend's  house, 
upon  a  theme  of  my  own  choosing  ;  and  this  theme 
was,  "  The  Advancement  of  Women  as  Promoted 
by  Association."  My  audience,  numbering  about 
forty,  was  the  best  that  could  be  gathered  in  Ath 
ens.  I  found  there,  as  I  have  found  elsewhere  in 
Europe,  great  need  of  the  new  life  which  associa 
tion  gives,  but  little  courage  to  take  the  first  step 
in  a  new  direction.  I  could  only  scratch  my  furrow, 
drop  my  seed,  and  wait,  like  Miss  Flyte,  in  "  Bleak 
96 


House,"  for  a  result,  if  need  be,  "on  the  day  of  Greece 
}  udgment."  Revisited 

It  is  a  delight  to  speak  of  a  deeper  furrow  which 
was  drawn,  ten  years  earlier,  by  an  abler  hand  than 
mine,  though  several  of  us  gave  some  help  in  the 
work  done  at  that  time.  I  allude  to  the  efforts 
made  by  my  dear  husband  in  behalf  of  the  suffering 
Cretans,  when  they  were  struggling  bravely  for  the 
freedom  which  Europe  still  denies  them.  Some  of 
the  money  raised  by  his  earnest  efforts,  as  I  have 
already  said,  found  its  way  to  the  then  desolate 
island,  in  the  shape  of  provisions  and  clothing  for 
the  wives  and  children  of  the  combatants.  Some 
of  it  remained  in  Athens,  and  paid  for  the  educa 
tion  of  a  whole  generation  of  Cretan  children  ex 
iled  from  their  homes,  and  rendered  able,  through 
the  aid  thus  afforded,  to  earn  their  own  support. 

Some  of  the  money,  moreover,  went  to  found 
an  industrial  establishment  in  Athens,  which  has 
since  been  continued  and  enlarged  by  funds  derived 
from  other  sources.  This  establishment  began  with 
two  or  three  looms,  the  Cretan  women  being  expert 
weavers,  and  the  object  being  to  enable  them  to 
earn  their  bread  in  a  strange  city.  And  it  now  has 
at  least  a  dozen  looms,  and  the  Dorian  mothers, 
stately  and  powerful,  sit  at  them  all  day  long,  weav 
ing  dainty  silken  webs,  gossamer  stuffs,  strong 
cotton  fabrics,  and  serviceable  carpets. 

97 


Greece  In  those  days  I  saw  Marathon  for  the  first  time, 

Revisited  and  learned  the  truth  of  Lord  Byron's  lines :  — 

The  mountains  look  on  Marathon, 
And  Marathon  looks  on  the  sea. 

This  expedition  occupied  the  whole  of  a  winter 
day.  We  started  from  the  hotel  after  early  break 
fast,  and  did  not  regain  it  until  long  after  dark. 
Our  carriages  were  accompanied  by  an  escort  of 
dragoons,  which  the  Greek  government  supplies, 
not  in  view  of  any  real  danger  from  brigands,  but 
in  order  to  afford  strangers  every  possible  security. 
A  drive  of  some  three  hours  brought  us  to  the 
spot. 

A  level  plain,  between  the  mountains  and  the 
sea ;  a  mound,  raised  at  its  centre,  marking  the 
burial-place  of  those  who  fell  in  the  famous  battle ; 
a  sea-beach,  washed  by  blue  waves,  and  basking  in 
the  golden  Attic  sunlight  —  this  is  what  we  saw 
at  Marathon. 

Here  we  gathered  pebbles,  and  I  preserved  for 
some  days  a  knot  of  daisies  growing  in  a  grassy 
clod  of  earth.  But  my  mind  saw  in  Marathon  an 
earnest  of  the  patriotic  spirit  which  has  lifted  Greece 
from  such  ruin  as  the  Persians  were  never  able  to 
inflict  upon  her.  Worthy  descendants  of  those 
ancient  heroes  were  the  patriots  who  fought,  in  our 
own  century,  the  war  of  Greek  independence.  I 
am  glad  to  think  that  all  heroic  deeds  have  a 

98 


fatherhood  of  their  own,  whose  line  never  becomes  Greece 
extinct.  Revisited 

Those  who  would  institute  a  comparison  between 
ancient  and  modern  art  should  first  compare  the 
office  of  art  in  ancient  times  with  the  function  as 
signed  it  in  our  own. 

The  sculptures  of  classic  Greece  were  primarily 
the  embodiment  of  its  popular  theology  and  the 
record  of  its  patriotic  heroism.  They  are  not,  as 
we  might  think  them,  fancy-free.  The  marble  gods 
of  Hellas  characterize  for  us  the  morale  of  that  an 
cient  community.  They  expressed  the  religious 
conviction  of  the  artist,  and  corresponded  to  the 
faith  of  the  multitude.  If  we  recognize  the  free 
dom  of  imagination  in  their  conception,  we  also 
feel  the  reverence  which  guided  the  sculptor  in  their 
execution.  As  Emerson  has  said  :  — 

Himself  from  God  he  could  not  free. 

How  necessary  these  marbles  were  to  the  devo 
tion  of  the  time,  we  may  infer  from  the  complaint 
reported  in  one  of  Cicero's  orations,  —  that  a  cer 
tain  Greek  city  had  been  so  stripped  of  its  marbles 
that  its  people  had  no  god  left  to  pray  to. 

In  the  city  of  the  Caesars,  this  Greek  art  became 
the  minister  of  luxury.  The  ethics  of  the  Roman 
people  chiefly  concerned  their  relation  to  the  state, 
to  which  their  church  was  in  great  measure  subserv- 

99 


Greece  ient.  The  statues  stolen  from  the  worship  of  the 
Revisited  Greeks  adorned  the  baths  and  palaces  of  the  Em 
perors.  This  we  must  think  providential  for  us, 
since  it  is  in  this  way  that  they  have  escaped  the 
barbarous  destruction  which  for  ages  swept  over  the 
whole  of  Greece,  and  to  whose  rude  force,  column, 
monument,  and  statue  were  only  raw  material  for 
the  lime-kiln. 

Still  more  secondary  is  the  position  of  sculpture 
in  the  civilization  of  to-day.  Here  and  there  a 
monument  or  statue  commemorates  some  great 
name  or  some  great  event.  But  these  are  still  out 
side  the  current  of  our  daily  life.  Marble  is  to  us 
a  gospel  of  death,  and  we  grow  less  and  less  fond 
of  its  cold  abstraction.  The  glitter  of  bric-a-brac, 
bits  of  color,  an  unexpected  shimmer  here  and  there 
—  such  are  the  favorite  aspects  of  art  with  us. 

In  saying  this,  I  remember  that  many  beautiful 
works  of  art  have  been  purchased  by  wealthy 
Americans,  and  that  a  surprising  number  of  our 
people  know  what  is  worth  purchasing  in  this  line. 
And  yet  I  think  that  in  the  houses  of  these  very 
people,  art  is  rather  the  servant  of  luxury  than  the 
embodiment  of  any  strong  and  sincere  affection. 

We  cannot  turn  back  the  tide  of  progress.  We 
cannot  make  our  religion  sculpturesque  and  pictur 
esque.  God  forbid  that  we  should  !  But  we  can 
look  upon  the  sculptures  of  ancient  Greece  with 

100 


reverent  appreciation,  and  behold  in  them  a  record  Greece 
of  the  naive  and  simple  faith  of  a  great  people.          Revisited 

If  we  must  speak  thus  of  plastic  art,  what  shall 
we  say  of  the  drama  ? 

Sit  down  with  me  before  this  palace  of  CEdipus, 
whose  fa£ade  is  the  only  scenic  aid  brought  to  help 
the  illusion  of  the  play.  See  how  the  whole  secret 
and  story  of  the  hero's  fate  is  wrought  out  before 
its  doors,  which  open  upon  his  youthful  strength 
and  glory,  and  close  upon  his  desolate  shame  and 
blindness.  Follow  the  majestic  tread  of  the  verse, 
the  perfect  progress  of  the  action,  and  learn  the 
deep  reverence  for  the  unseen  powers  which  lifts 
and  spiritualizes  the  agony  of  the  plot. 

Where  shall  we  find  a  parallel  to  this  in  the 
drama  of  our  day  ?  The  most  striking  contrast  to 
it  will  be  furnished  by  what  we  call  a  "  realistic " 
play,  which  is  a  play  devised  upon  the  supposition 
that  those  who  will  attend  its  representation  are  not 
possessed  of  any  imagination,  but  must  be  dazzled 
through  their  eyes  and  deafened  through  their  ears, 
until  the  fatigue  of  the  senses  shall  take  the  place 
of  intellectual  pleasure.  The  denouement  will,  no 
doubt,  present,  as  it  can,  the  familiar  moral  that 
virtue  is  in  the  end  rewarded,  and  vice  punished. 
But  such  virtue  !  and  such  vice  !  How  shall  we  be 
sure  which  is  which  ? 

During    this    visit,   1    had    an    interview   which 

101 


Greece       brought  me  face  to  face  with  some  of  the  Cretan 

Revisited  chiefs,  who  were  exiles  in  Athens  at  the  time  of 

my  visit,  in  consequence  of  their  participation  in 

the  more  recent  efforts  of  the   Islanders  to   free 

themselves  from  the  Turkish  rule. 

I  received,  one  day,  official  notice  that  a  com 
mittee,  appointed  by  a  number  of  the  Cretan  exiles, 
desired  permission  to  wait  upon  me,  with  the  view 
of  presenting  an  address  which  should  recognize 
the  efforts  made  by  Dr.  Howe  in  behalf  of  their 
unfortunate  country.  In  accordance  with  this  re 
quest,  I  named  an  hour  on  the  following  day,  and 
at  the  appointed  time  my  guests  made  their  appear 
ance.  The  Cretan  chiefs  were  five  in  number.  All 
of  them,  but  one,  were  dressed  in  the  picturesque 
costume  of  their  country.  This  one  was  Katzi 
Michaelis,  the  youngest  of  the  party,  and  somewhat 
more  like  the  world's  people  than  the  others.  Two 
of  these  were  very  old  men,  one  of  them  numbering 
eighty-four  years,  and  bearing  a  calm  and  serene 
front,  like  one  of  Homer's  heroes.  This  was  old 
Korakas,  who  had  only  laid  down  his  arms  within 
two  years.  The  chiefs  were  accompanied  by  sev 
eral  gentlemen,  residents  of  Athens.  One  of  these, 
Mr.  Rainieri,  opened  proceedings  by  a  few  remarks 
in  French,  setting  forth  the  object  of  the  visit,  and 
introducing  the  address  of  the  Cretan  committee, 
which  he  read  in  their  own  tongue :  — 

IO2 


MADAM,  —  Greece 

We,  the  undersigned,  emigrants  from  Crete,  who  await  in 
free  Greece  the  complete  emancipation  of  our  country,  have 
learned  with  pleasure  the  fact  of  your  presence  in  Athens.  We 
feel  assured  that  we  shall  faithfully  interpret  the  sentiments  of 
our  fellow-countrymen  by  saluting  your  return  to  this  city,  and 
by  assuring  you,  at  the  same  time,  that  the  remembrance  of  the 
benefits  conferred  by  your  late  illustrious  husband  is  always  living 
in  our  hearts.  When  the  sun  of  liberty  shall  arise  upon  the 
Island  of  Crete,  the  Cretans  will,  no  doubt,  decree  the  erection 
of  a  monument  which  will  attest  to  succeeding  generations  the 
gratitude  of  our  country  toward  her  noble  benefactor.  For  the 
moment,  Madam,  deign  to  accept  the  simple  expression  of  our 
sentiments,  and  our  prayers  for  the  prosperity  of  your  family  and 
your  nation,  to  which  we  and  our  children  shall  ever  be  bound 
by  the  ties  of  gratitude. 

The  substance  of  my  reply  to  Mr.  Rainieri  was 
as  follows  :  — 

MY  DEAR.  SIR,  — 

I  beg  that  you  will  express  to  these  gentlemen  my  gratitude 
for  their  visit,  and  for  the  sentiments  communicated  in  the  address 
to  which  I  have  just  listened.  I  am  much  moved  by  the  mention 
made  of  the  services  which  my  late  illustrious  husband  was  able 
to  render  to  the  cause  of  Greece  in  his  youth,  and  to  that  of 
Crete  in  his  later  life.  It  is  true  that  his  earliest  efforts,  outside 
of  his  native  country,  were  for  Greek  independence,  and  that  his 
latest  endeavors  in  Europe  were  made  in  aid  of  the  Cretans,  who 
have  struggled  with  so  much  courage  and  perseverance  to  deliver 
their  country  from  the  yoke  of  Turkish  oppression.  Pray  assure 
these  gentlemen  that  my  children  and  I  will  never  cease  to  pray 
for  the  welfare  of  Greece,  and  especially  for  the  emancipation  of 

103 


Greece         Crete.     Though  myself  already  in  the  decline  of  life,  I  yet  hope 

r>      •  -,  j  that  I  shall  live  long  enough  to  see  the  deliverance  of  your  island, 

1   rjv  toevOtpfa  r 


A  Greek  newspaper's  report  of  this  occasion 
remarked  :  — 

The  last  words  of  Mrs.  Howe's  reply,  spoken  in  Greek, 
brought  tears  to  the  eyes  of  the  heroes,  most  of  whom  had  known 
the  ever-memorable  Dr.  Howe  in  the  glorious  days  of  the  war  of 
1821,  and  had  fought  with  him  against  the  oppressors.  Mr. 
Rainieri  interpreted  the  meaning  of  Mrs.  Howe's  words  to  his 
fellow-citizens.  After  this,  Mrs.  Howe  gave  orders  for  refresh 
ments,  and  began  to  talk  slowly,  but  distinctly,  in  Greek,  to  the 
great  pleasure  of  all  present,  who  heard  directly  from  her  the 
voice  of  her  heart. 

I  will  only  add  that  all  parties  stood  during  the 
official  part  of  the  interview.  This  being  at  an  end, 
coffee  and  cordials  were  brought,  and  we  sat  at 
ease,  and  chatted  as  well  as  my  limited  use  of  the 
modern  Greek  tongue  allowed.  Before  we  sepa 
rated,  one  of  the  Greeks  present  invited  the  chiefs 
and  myself  and  daughter  to  a  feast  which  he  pro 
posed  to  give  at  Phaleron,  in  honor  of  the  meeting 
which  I  have  just  described. 

Some  account  of  this  festivity  may  not  be  unin 
teresting  to  my  readers.  I  must  premise  that  it 
was  to  be  no  banquet  of  modern  fashion,  but  a  feast 
of  the  Homeric  sort,  in  which  a  lamb,  roasted  whole 
in  the  open  air,  would  be  the  principal  dish.  Pha 
leron,  where  it  was  appointed  to  take  place,  is  an 

104 


ancient  port,  only  three  miles  distant  from  Athens.   Greece 
The  sea  view  from  this  point  is  admirable.     The  Revisited 
bay  is  small,  and  its  surroundings  are  highly  pict 
uresque.     Classic  as  was  the  occasion,  the  unclassic 
railway  furnished  our  conveyance. 

The  Cretan  chiefs  came  punctually  to  the  station, 
and  presently  we  all  entered  a  parlor-car,  and  were 
whisked  off  to  the  scene  of  action.  This  was  the 
hotel  at  Phaleron,  where  we  found  a  long  table  hand 
somely  set  out,  and  adorned  with  fruits  and  flowers. 
The  company  dispersed  fora  short  time,  —  some 
to  walk  by  the  shore  ;  some  to  see  the  lambs  roast 
ing  on  their  spit  in  the  courtyard ;  I,  to  sit  quietly 
for  half  an  hour,  after  which  interval,  dinner  was 
announced. 

Mr.  Rainieri  gave  me  his  arm,  and  seated  me  on 
his  right.  On  my  right  sat  Katzi  Michaelis.  My 
daughter  and  a  young  cousin  were  twined  in  like 
blooming  roses  between  the  gray  old  chieftains. 
Paraskevai'des,  the  giver  of  the  feast,  looked  all 
aglow  with  pleasure  and  enthusiasm.  Our  soup 
was  served,  —  quite  a  worldly,  French  soup.  But 
the  Greeks  insist  that  the  elaborate  style  of  cook 
ery  usually  known  as  French  originated  with 
them.  Then  came  a  Cretan  dish  consisting  of  the 
liver  and  entrails  of  the  lambs,  twisted  and  toasted 
on  a  spit.  Some  modern  entremets  followed,  and 
then,  as  piece  de  resistance,  the  lambs,  with  accompa 
nying  saiad.  Each  of  the  elder  chiefs,  before  tast- 

105 


Greece       ing  his  first  glass  of  wine,  rose  and  saluted  the  com- 
Revisited  pany,  making  especial  obeisance  to  the  master  of 
the  feast. 

The  Homeric  rage  of  hunger  and  thirst  having 
been  satisfied,  it  became  time  for  us  to  make  the 
most  of  a  reunion  so  rare  in  its  elements,  and  nec 
essarily  so  brief.  I  will  here  quote  partially  the  re 
port  given  in  one  of  the  Greek  papers  of  the  time. 
The  writer  says :  "  During  dinner  many  warm 
toasts  were  drunk.  Mr.  Rainieri  drank  to  the 
health  of  Mrs.  Howe.  Mr.  Paraskevai'des  drank 
to  the  memory  of  Dr.  Howe  and  the  health  of  all 
freedom-loving  Americans,  giving  his  toast  first  in 
Greek  and  afterwards  in  English.  To  all  this, 
Mrs.  Howe  made  answer  in  French,  with  great 
sympathy  and  eloquence."  So  the  paper  said,  but 
I  will  only  say  that  I  did  as  well  as  I  was  able. 

At  the  mention  of  Dr.  Howe's  name,  old  Ko- 
rakas  rose,  and  said :  "  I  assure  Mrs.  Howe  that 
when,  with  God's  will,  Crete  becomes  free,  the 
Cretans  will  erect  a  statue  to  the  memory  of  her 
ever-memorable  husband."  At  this  time,  I  thought 
it  only  right  to  propose  the  memory  of  President 
Felton,  former  president  of  Harvard  University, 
in  his  day  an  ardent  lover  of  Greek  literature,  and 
of  the  land  which  gave  it  birth.  The  eldest  son  of 
this  lamented  friend  sat  with  us  at  the  table,  and 
had  become  so  proficient  in  the  language  of  the 
country  as  to  be  able  to  acknowledge  the  compli- 
106 


ment  in  Greek,  which  the  reporter  qualifies  as  ex-  Greece 
cellent.      Apropos  of  this  same  reporter,  let  me  Revisited 
say  that  he  entered  so  heartily  into  the  spirit  of 
the  feast  as  to  improvise  on  the  spot  some  lines 
of  poetry,  of  which  the  following  is  a  free  trans 
lation  :  — 

I  greet  the  warriors  of  brave  Crete 

Assembled  in  this  place. 

Each  of  them  represents  her  mountains, 

Each  her  heart,  each  her  breath. 

If  life  may  be  measured  by  struggles, 

So  great  is  her  life, 

That  on  the  day  when  she  becomes  free 

Two  worlds  will  be  filled  with  the  joy  of  her  freedom. 

The  report  says  truly  that  the  heroes  of  Crete, 
with  their  white  beards,  resembled  gods  of  Olym 
pus.  The  three  oldest — Korakas,  Kriaris,  and 
Syphacus  —  spoke  of  the  days  in  which  Dr.  Howe, 
while  taking  part  with  them  in  the  military  opera 
tions  of  the  war  of  Greek  independence,  at  the 
same  time  made  his  medical  skill  availing  to  the 
sick  and  wounded. 

When  we  had  risen  from  the  board,  passing  into 
another  room,  my  daughter  saw  a  ball  lying  on  the 
table,  and  soon  engaged  the  ancient  chiefs  in  the 
pastime  of  throwing  and  catching  it.  "  See/'  said 
one  of  the  company,  "Dr.  Howe's  daughter  is 
playing  with  the  men  who,  fifty  years  ago,  were 
her  father's  companions  in  arms." 

107 


Greece  After  the  simple  patriarchal  festivity,  the  return, 

Revisited  even  to  Athens,  seemed  a  return  to  the  common 
place. 

A  word  regarding  the  Greek  church  belongs 
here.  Its  ritual  represents,  without  doubt,  the 
most  ancient  form  of  worship  which  can  have  rep 
resentation  in  these  days.  The  church  calls  itself 
simply  orthodox.  It  classes  Christians  as  ortho 
dox,  Romanist,  and  Protestant,  and  condemns  the 
two  last-named  confessions  of  faith  equally  as  here 
sies.  The  Greek  church  in  Greece  has  little  zeal 
for  the  propaganda  of  its  special  doctrine,  but  it 
has  great  zeal  against  the  introduction  of  any  other 
sect  within  the  boundaries  of  its  domain.  Protest 
ant  and  Catholic  congregations  are  tolerated  in 
Greece,  but  the  attempt  to  educate  Greek  children 
in  the  tenets  held  by  either  is  not  tolerated,  is  in 
fact  prohibited  by  government.  I  found  the  relig 
ious  quiet  of  Athens  somewhat  disturbed  by  the 
presence  of  several  missionaries,  supported  by 
funds  from  America,  who  persisted  in  teaching 
and  preaching ;  one,  after  the  form  of  the  Baptist, 
another,  after  that  of  the  Presbyterian  body.  The 
schools  formerly  established  in  connection  with 
these  missions  have  been  forcibly  closed,  because 
those  in  charge  of  them  would  not  submit  them  to 
the  religious  authority  of  the  Greek  priesthood. 

The  Sunday  preaching  of  the  missionaries,  on  the 
other  hand,  still  went  on,  making  converts  from 
108 


time  to  time,  and  supplying  certainly  a  direct  and  Greece 
vivid  influence  quite  other  than  the  extremely  for-  Revisited 
mal  teaching  of  the  state  church.  The  most  prom 
inent  of  these  missionaries  are  Greeks  who  have 
received  their  education  in  America,  and  who  com 
bine  a  fervent  love  for  their  mother  country  with 
an  equally  fervent  desire  for  her  religious  progress. 
One  can  easily  understand  the  attachment  of  the 
Greeks  to  their  national  church.  It  has  been  the 
ark  of  safety  by  which  their  national  existence  has 
been  preserved. 

When  the  very  name  of  Hellene  was  almost  ob 
literated  from  the  minds  of  those  entitled  to  bear 
it,  the  Greek  priesthood  were  unwearied  in  keeping 
alive  the  love  of  the  ancient  ritual  and  doctrine,  the 
belief  in  the  Christian  religion.  This  debt  of  grat 
itude  is  warmly  remembered  by  the  Greeks  of  to 
day,  and  their  church  is  still  to  them  the  symbol  of 
national,  as  well  as  of  religious,  unity.  On  the 
other  hand,  the  progress  of  religious  thought  and 
culture  carries  inquiring  minds  beyond  the  domain 
of  ancient  and  literal  interpretation,  and  the  out 
ward  conformity  which  society  demands  is  counter 
balanced  by  much  personal  scepticism  and  indiffer 
ence.  The  missionaries,  who  cannot  compete  in 
polite  learning  with  the  elite  of  their  antagonists, 
are  yet  much  better  informed  than  the  greater  part 
of  the  secular  clergy,  and  represent,  besides,  some 
thing  of  American  freedom,  and  the  right  and  duty 

109 


Greece  of  doing  one's  own  thinking  in  religious  matters, 
Revisited  and  of  accepting  doctrines,  if  at  all,  with  a  living 
faith  and  conviction,  not  with  a  dead  and  formal 
assent.  It  is  one  of  those  battles  between  the  Past 
and  the  Future  which  have  to  fight  themselves  out 
to  an  issue  that  outsiders  cannot  hasten. 

Shall  I  close  these  somewhat  desultory  remarks 
with  any  attempt  at  a  lesson  which  may  be  drawn 
from  them  ?  Yes  ;  to  Americans  I  will  say  :  Love 
Greece.  Be  glad  of  the  men  who  rose  up  from  your 
midst  at  the  cry  of  her  great  anguish,  to  do  battle 
in  her  behalf.  Be  glad  of  the  money  which  you  or 
your  fathers  sent  to  help  her.  America  never  spends 
money  better  than  in  this  way.  Remember  what 
this  generation  may  be  in  danger  of  forgetting,  — 
that  we  can  never  be  so  great  ourselves  as  to  be 
absolved  from  regarding  the  struggle  for  freedom, 
in  the  remotest  corners  of  the  earth,  with  tender 
sympathy  and  interest.  And  in  the  great  reactions 
which  attend  human  progress,  when  self-interest  is 
acknowledged  as  the  supreme  god  everywhere,  and 
the  ideals  of  justice  and  honor  are  set  out  of  sight 
and  derided,  let  the  heart  of  this  country  be  strong 
to  protest  against  military  usurpation,  against  bar 
barous  rule.  Let  America  invite  to  her  shores  the 
dethroned  heroes  of  liberal  thought  and  policy,  say 
ing  to  them  :  "  Come  and  abide  with  us  ;  we  have  a 
country,  a  hand,  a  heart,  for  you/' 

no 


The  Salon  in  America 


The  Salon  in  America 

THE  word  "  society  "  has  reached  the  develop-  The 
ment  of  two  opposite  meanings.     The  generic  Salon  in 
term  applies  to  the  body  politic  en  masse ;  the  spe-  America 
cine  term  is  technically  used  to  designate  a  very 
limited  portion   of  that   body.      The  use,  nowa 
days,  of  the  slang  expression  "  sassiety "   is   evi 
dence  that  we  need  a  word  which  we  do  not  as  yet 
possess. 

It  is  with  this  department  of  the  human  fellow 
ship  that  I  now  propose  to  occupy  myself,  and  es 
pecially  with  one  of  its  achievements,  considered  by 
some  a  lost  art,  —  the  salon. 

This  prelude  of  mine  is  somewhat  after  the  man 
ner  of  Polonius,  but,  as  Shakespeare  must  have  had 
occasion  to  observe,  the  mind  of  age  has  ever  a  ret 
rospective  turn.  Those  of  us  who  are  used  to 
philosophizing  must  always  go  back  from  a  partic 
ular  judgment  to  some  governing  principle  which 
we  have  found,  or  think  we  have  found,  in  long  ex 
perience.  The  question  whether  salons  are  possi 
ble  in  America  leads  my  thoughts  to  other  ques 
tions  which  appear  to  me  to  lie  behind  this  one, 
and  which  primarily  concern  the  well-being  of  civ 
ilized  man. 


The  The  uses  of  society,  in  the  sense  of  an  assem- 

Salon  in  blage  for  social  intercourse,  may  be  briefly  stated 
America  as  follows  :  first  of  all,  such  assemblages  are  needed, 
in  order  to  make  people  better  friends.  Secondly, 
they  are  needed  to  enlarge  the  individual  mind  by 
the  interchange  of  thought  and  expression  with 
other  minds.  Thirdly,  they  are  needed  for  the  util 
ization  of  certain  sorts  and  degrees  of  talent  which 
would  not  be  available  either  for  professional,  busi 
ness,  or  educational  work,  but  which,  appropriately 
combined  and  used,  can  forward  the  severe  labors 
included  under  these  heads,  by  the  instrumentality 
of  sympathy,  enjoyment,  and  good  taste. 

Any  social  custom  or  institution  which  can  ac 
complish  one  or  more  of  these  ends  will  be  found 
of  important  use  in  the  work  of  civilization  ;  but 
here,  as  well  as  elsewhere,  the  ends  which  the  hu 
man  heart  desires  are  defeated  by  the  poverty  of 
human  judgment  and  the  general  ignorance  con 
cerning  the  relation  of  means  to  ends.  Society, 
thus  far,  is  a  sort  of  lottery,  in  which  there  are  few 
prizes  and  many  blanks ,  and  each  of  these  blanks 
represents  some  good  to  which  men  and  women  are 
entitled,  and  which  they  should  have,  and  could,  if 
they  only  knew  how  to  come  at  it. 

Thus,  social  intercourse  is  sometimes  so  ordered 
that  it  develops  antagonism  instead  of  harmony, 
and  makes  one  set  of  people  the  enemies  of  another 
114 


set,  dividing  not  only  circles,  but  friendships  and  The 
families.     This  state  of  things  defeats  society's  first  Salon  in 
object,  which,  in  my  view,  is  to  make  people  better  America 
friends.     Secondly,  it  will  happen,  and  not  seldom, 
that  the  frequent  meeting  together  of  a  number  of 
people,  necessarily  restricted,  instead  of  enlarging 
the  social  horizon  of  the  individual,  will  tend  to 
narrow  it  more  and  more,  so  that  sets  and  cliques 
will  revolve  around  small  centres  of  interest,  and 
refuse  to  extend  their  scope. 

In  this  way,  end  number  two,  the  enlargement 
of  the  individual  mind  is  lost  sight  of,  and,  end 
number  three,  the  interchange  of  thought  and  ex 
perience  does  not  have  room  to  develop  itself. 

People  say  what  they  think  others  want  to  hear : 
they  profess  experiences  which  they  have  never  had. 
Here,  consequently,  a  sad  blank  is  drawn,  where 
we  might  well  look  for  the  greatest  prize ;  and, 
end  number  four,  the  utilization  of  secondary  or 
even  tertiary  talents  is  defeated  by  the  application 
of  a  certain  fashion  varnish,  which  effaces  all  features 
of  individuality,  and  produces  a  wondrously  dull 
surface,  where  we  might  have  hoped  for  a  brilliant 
variety  of  form  and  color. 

These  defects  of  administration  being  easily  rec 
ognized,  the  great  business  of  social  organizations 
ought  to  be  to  guard  against  them  in  such  wise  that 
the  short  space  and  limited  opportunity  of  indi- 

"5 


The  vidual  life  should  have  offered  to  it  the  possibility 
Salon  in  of  a  fair  and  generous  investment,  instead  of  the 
America  uncertain  lottery  of  which  I  spoke  just  now. 

One  of  the  great  needs  of  society  in  all  times  is 
that  its  guardians  shall  take  care  that  rules  or  in 
stitutions  devised  for  some  good  end  shall  not 
become  so  perverted  in  the  use  made  of  them  as 
to  bring  about  the  result  most  opposed  to  that 
which  they  were  intended  to  secure.  This,  I  take 
it,  is  the  true  meaning  of  the  saying  that  "  the  price 
of  liberty  is  eternal  vigilance/'  no  provision  to  se 
cure  this  being  sure  to  avail,  without  the  constant 
direction  of  personal  care  to  the  object. 

The  institution  of  the  salon  might,  in  some 
periods  of  social  history,  greatly  forward  the  sub 
stantial  and  good  ends  of  human  companionship. 
I  can  easily  fancy  that,  in  other  times  and  under 
other  circumstances,  its  influence  might  be  detri 
mental  to  general  humanity  and  good  fellowship. 
We  can,  in  imagination,  follow  the  two  processes 
which  I  have  here  in  mind.  The  strong  action  of 
a  commanding  character,  or  of  a  commanding  inter 
est,  may,  in  the  first  instance,  draw  together  those 
who  belong  together.  Fine  spirits,  communicative 
and  receptive,  will  obey  the  fine  electric  force  which 
seeks  to  combine  them,  —  the  great  wits,  and  the 
people  who  can  appreciate  them  ;  the  poets,  and 
their  fit  hearers ;  philosophers,  statesmen,  econ 
omists,  and  the  men  and  women  who  will  be  able 
116 


and  eager  to  learn  from  the  informal  overflow  of  The 
their  wisdom  and  knowledge.  Salon  in 

Here  we  may  have  a  glimpse  of  a  true  republic  America 
of  intelligence.    What  should  overthrow  it  ?    Why 
should  it   not  last   forever,  and  be  handed  down 
from  one  generation  to  another  ? 

The  salon  is  an  insecure  institution  ;  first,  be 
cause  the  exclusion  of  new  material,  of  new  men 
and  new  ideas,  may  so  girdle  such  a  society  that  its 
very  perfection  shall  involve  its  death.  Then,  on 
account  of  the  false  ideas  and  artificial  methods 
which  self-limiting  society  tends  to  introduce,  in 
time  the  genuine  basis  of  association  disappears 
from  view :  the  great  name  is  wanted  for  the  repu 
tation  of  the  salon,  not  the  great  intelligence  for  its 
illumination.  The  moment  that  you  put  the  name 
in  place  of  the  individual,  you  introduce  an  ele 
ment  of  insincerity  and  failure. 

There  is  a  sort  of  homage  quite  common  in  so 
ciety,  which  amounts  to  such  flattery  as  this : 
"  Madam,  I  assure  you  that  I  consider  you  an  em 
inently  brilliant  and  successful  sham.  Will  you 
tell  me  your  secret,  or  shall  I,  a  worker  in  the  same 
line,  tell  you  mine  ? "  Again,  the  contradictory 
objects  of  our  desired  salon  are  its  weakness.  We 
wish  it  to  exclude  the  general  public,  but  we  dread 
fully  desire  that  it  shall  be  talked  about  and  envied 
by  the  general  public.  These  two  opposite  aims 
—  a  severe  restriction  of  membership,  and  an  un- 

117 


The  limited  extension  of  reputation  —  are  very  likely 
Salon  in  to  destroy  the  social  equilibrium  of  any  circle,  cote- 
America  rie,  or  association. 

Such  contradictions  have  deep  roots ;  even  the 
general  conduct  of  neighborhood  evinces  them. 
People  are  often  concerned  lest  those  who  live  near 
them  should  infringe  upon  the  rights  and  reserves 
of  their  household.  In  large  cities,  people  some 
times  boast  with  glee  that  they  have  no  acquaint 
ance  with  the  families  dwelling  on  either  side  of 
them.  And  yet,  in  some  of  those  very  cities,  social 
intercourse  is  limited  by  regions,  and  one  street  of 
fine  houses  will  ignore  another,  which  is,  to  all  ap 
pearances,  as  fine  and  as  reputable.  Under  these 
circumstances,  some  may  naturally  ask  :  "  Who  is 
my  neighbor  ?  "  In  the  sense  of  the  good  Samar 
itan,  mostly  no  one. 

Dante  has  given  us  pictures  of  the  ideal  good 
and  the  ideal  evil  association.  The  company  of  his 
demons  is  distracted  by  incessant  warfare.  Weap 
ons  are  hurled  back  and  forth  between  them,  curses 
and  imprecations,  while  the  solitary  souls  of  great 
sinners  abide  in  the  torture  of  their  own  flame.  As 
the  great  poet  has  introduced  to  us  a  number  of 
his  acquaintance  in  this  infernal  abode,  we  may 
suppose  him  to  have  given  us  his  idea  of  much  of 
the  society  of  his  own  time.  Such  appeared  to  him 
that  part  of  the  World  which,  with  the  Flesh  and 
the  Devil,  completes  the  trinity  of  evil.  But,  in 
118 


his  Paradiso,  what  glimpses  does  he  give  us  of  the  The 
lofty  spiritual  communion  which  then,  as  now,  re-  Salon  in 
deemed  humanity  from  its  low  discredit,  its  spite  America 
and  malice ! 

Resist  as  we  may,  the  Christian  order  is  prevail 
ing,  and  will  more  and  more  prevail.  At  the  two 
opposite  poles  of  popular  affection  and  learned  per 
suasion,  it  did  overcome  the  world,  ages  ago.  In 
the  intimate  details  of  life,  in  the  spirit  of  ordinary 
society,  it  will  penetrate  more  and  more.  We  may 
put  its  features  out  of  sight  and  out  of  mind,  but 
they  are  present  in  the  world  about  us,  and  what 
we  may  build  in  ignorance  or  defiance  of  them  will 
not  stand.  Modern  society  itself  is  one  of  the  re 
sults  of  this  world  conquest  which  was  crowned 
with  thorns  nearly  two  thousand  years  ago.  In 
spite  of  the  selfishness  of  all  classes  of  men  and 
women,  this  conquest  puts  the  great  goods  of  life 
within  the  reach  of  all. 

I  speak  of  Christianity  here,  because,  as  I  see  it, 
it  stands  in  direct  opposition  to  the  natural  desire 
of  privileged  classes  and  circles  to  keep  the  best 
things  for  their  own  advantage  and  enjoyment. 
"  What,  then  !  "  will  you  say,  "  shall  society  become 
an  agrarian  mob  ?  "  By  no  means.  Its  great  do 
main  is  everywhere  crossed  by  boundaries.  All 
of  us  have  our  proper  limits,  and  should  keep 
them,  when  we  have  once  learned  them. 

But  all  of  us  have  a  share,  too,  in  the  good  and 

119 


The  gl°ry  °f  human  destiny.  The  free  course  of  intel- 
Salon  in  ligence  and  sympathy  in  our  own  commonwealth 
America  establishes  here  a  social  unity  which  is  hard  to  find 
elsewhere.  Do  not  let  any  of  us  go  against  this. 
Animal  life  itself  begins  with  a  cell,  and  slowly  un 
folds  and  expands  until  it  generates  the  great  elec 
tric  currents  which  impel  the  world  of  sentient  be 
ings. 

The  social  and  political  life  of  America  has  passed 
out  of  the  cell  state  into  the  sweep  of  a  wide  and 
brilliant  efficiency.  Let  us  not  try  to  imprison 
this  truly  cosmopolitan  life  in  cells,  going  back  to 
the  instinctive  selfhood  of  the  barbaric  state. 

Nature  starts  from  cells,  but  develops  by  cen 
tres.  If  we  want  to  find  the  true  secret  of  social 
discrimination,  let  us  seek  it  in  the  study  of  cen 
tres,  —  central  attractions,  each  subordinated  to  the 
governing  harmony  of  the  universe,  but  each  work 
ing  to  keep  together  the  social  atoms  that  belong 
together.  There  was  a  time  in  which  the  stars  in 
our  beautiful  heaven  were  supposed  to  be  kept  in 
their  places  by  solid  mechanical  contrivances,  the 
heaven  itself  being  an  immense  body  that  revolved 
with  the  rest.  The  progress  of  science  has  taught 
us  that  the  luminous  orbs  which  surround  us  are 
not  held  by  mechanical  bonds,  but  that  natural  laws 
of  attraction  bind  the  atom  to  the  globe,  and  the 
globe  to  its  orbit. 

Even  so  is  it  with  the  social  atoms  which  com- 

120 


pose  humanity.     Each  of  them  has  his  place,  his   The 
right,  his  beauty ;  and  each  and  all  are  governed  Salon  in 
by  laws  of  belonging  which  are  as  delicate  as  the  America 
tracery  of  the  frost,  and   as   mighty  as   the  frost 
itself. 

The  club  is  taking  the  place  of  the  salon  to-day, 
and  not  without  reason.  I  mean  by  this  the  study, 
culture,  and  social  clubs,  not  those  modern  for 
tresses  in  which  a  man  rather  takes  refuge  from 
society  than  really  seeks  or  finds  it.  I  have  just 
said  that  mankind  are  governed  by  centres  of  nat 
ural  attraction,  around  which  their  lives  come  to 
revolve.  In  the  course  of  human  progress,  the 
higher  centres  exercise  an  ever-widening  attraction, 
and  the  masses  of  mankind  are  brought  more  and 
more  under  their  influence. 

Now,  the  affection  of  fraternal  sympathy  and 
good-will  is  as  natural  to  man,  though  not  so  imme 
diate  in  him,  as  are  any  of  the  selfish  instincts. 
Objects  of  moral  and  intellectual  worth  call  forth 
this  sympathy  in  a  high  and  ever-increasing  degree, 
while  objects  in  which  self  is  paramount  call  forth 
just  the  opposite,  and  foster  in  one  and  all  the  self 
ish  principle,  which  is  always  one  of  emulation,  dis 
cord,  and  mutual  distrust.  While  a  salon  may  be 
administered  in  a  generous  and  disinterested  man 
ner,  I  should  fear  that  it  would  often  prove  an 
arena  in  which  the  most  selfish  leadings  of  human 
nature  would  assert  themselves. 

121 


The  In  the  club,  a  sort  of  public   spirit  necessarily 

Salon  in  develops  itself.  Each  of  us  would  like  to  have 
America  his  place  there,  —  yes,  and  his  appointed  little 
time  of  shining, —  but  a  worthy  object,  such  as 
will  hold  together  men  and  women  on  an  intel 
lectual  basis,  gradually  wins  for  itself  the  place  of 
command  in  the  affections  of  those  who  follow  it 
in  company.  Each  of  these  will  find  that  his  un 
aided  efforts  are  insufficient  for  the  furthering  and 
illustration  of  a  great  subject  which  all  have  greatly 
at  heart.  I  have  been  present  at  a  forge  on  which 
the  pure  gold  of  thought  has  been  hammered  by 
thinkers  into  the  rounded  sphere  of  an  almost  per 
fect  harmony.  One  and  another  and  another  gave 
his  hit  or  his  touch,  and  when  the  delightful  hour 
was  at  an  end,  each  of  us  carried  the  golden  sphere 
away  with  him. 

The  club  which  I  have  in  mind  at  this  moment 
had  an  unfashionable  name,  and  was  scarcely,  if  at 
all,  recognized  in  the  general  society  of  Boston.  It 
was  called  the  Radical  Club,  —  and  the  really  rad 
ical  feature  in  it  was  the  fact  that  the  thoughts  pre 
sented  at  its  meetings  had  a  root,  and  were,  in  that 
sense,  radical.  These  thoughts,  entertained  by  in 
dividuals  of  very  various  persuasions,  often  brought 
forth  strong  oppositions  of  opinion.  Some  of  us 
used  to  wax  warm  in  the  defence  of  our  own  con 
viction  ;  but  our  wrath  was  not  the  wrath  of  the 
peacock,  enraged  to  see  another  peacock  unfold  its 

122 


brilliant  tail,  but  the  concern  of  sincere  thinkers   The 
that  a  subject  worth  discussing  should  not  be  pre-  Salon  in 
sented  in  a  partial  and  one-sided  manner,  to  which  America 
end,  each  marked  his  point  and  said  his  say ;  and 
when   our  meeting  was  over,  we  had  all  had  the 
great  instruction  of  looking  into  the  minds  of  those 
to  whom  truth  was  as  dear  as  to  ourselves,  even  if 
her  aspect  to  them  was  not  exactly  what  it  was  to  us. 

Here  I  have  heard  Wendell  Phillips  and  Oliver 
Wendell  Holmes ;  John  Weiss  and  James  Free 
man  Clarke ;  Athanase  Coquerel,  the  noble  French 
Protestant  preacher ;  William  Henry  Channing, 
worthy  nephew  of  his  great  uncle;  Colonel  Hig- 
ginson,  Dr.  Bartol,  and  many  others.  Extravagant 
things  were  sometimes  said,  no  doubt,  and  the  equi 
librium  of  ordinary  persuasion  was  not  infrequently 
disturbed  for  a  time ;  but  the  satisfaction  of  those 
present  when  a  sound  basis  of  thought  was  vindi 
cated  and  established  is  indeed  pleasant  in  remem 
brance. 

I  feel  tempted  to  introduce  here  one  or  two 
magic-lantern  views  of  certain  sittings  of  this  re 
nowned  club,  of  which  I  cherish  especial  remem 
brance.  Let  me  say,  speaking  in  general  terms, 
that,  albeit  the  club  was  more  critical  than  devout, 
its  criticism  was  rarely  other  than  serious  and  ear 
nest.  I  remember  that  M.  Coquerel's  discourse 
there  was  upon  "  The  Protestantism  of  Art,"  and 
that  in  it  he  combated  the  generally  received  idea 

123 


The  that  the  church  of  Rome  has  always  stood  first  in 
Salon  in  the  patronage  and  inspiration  of  art.  The  great 
America  Dutch  painters,  Holbein,  Rembrandt,  and  their  fel 
lows,  were  not  Roman  Catholics.  Michael  Angelo 
was  protestant  in  spirit ;  so  was  Dante.  I  cannot 
recall  with  much  particularity  the  details  of  things 
heard  so  many  years  ago,  but  I  remember  the  pres 
ence  at  this  meeting  of  Charles  Sumner,  George 
Hillard,  and  Dr.  Hedge.  Mr.  Sumner  declined 
to  take  any  part  in  the  discussion  which  followed 
M.  Coquerel's  discourse.  Colonel  Higginson, 
who  was  often  present  at  these  meetings,  main 
tained  his  view  that  Protestantism  was  simply  the 
decline  of  the  Christian  religion.  Mr.  Hillard 
quoted  St.  James's  definition  of  religion,  pure  and 
undefiled,  —  to  visit  the  fatherless  and  widows  in 
their  affliction,  and  to  keep  himself  unspotted  from 
the  world.  Dr.  Hedge,  who  was  about  to  with 
draw,  paused  for  a  moment  to  say  :  "  The  word 
f  religion  '  is  not  rightly  translated  there  ;  it  should 
mean"  —  I  forgot  what.  The  doctor's  tone  and 
manner  very  much  impressed  a  friend,  who  after 
wards  said  to  me :  "  Did  he  not  go  away  ( like  one 
who  wraps  the  drapery  of  his  couch  about  him  '  ?  " 
Or  it  might  be  that  John  Weiss,  he  whom  a  lady 
writer  once  described  as  "  four  parts  spirit  and  one 
part  flesh,"  gave  us  his  paper  on  Prometheus,  or 
one  on  music,  or  propounded  his  theory  of  how 
the  world  came  into  existence.  Colonel  Higginson 
124 


would  descant  upon  the  Greek  goddesses,  as  repre-   The 
senting  the  feminine  ideals  of  the  Greek  mythology,  Salon  in 
which  he  held  to  be  superior  to  the  Christian  ideals  America 
of  womanhood,  —  dear  Elizabeth  Peabody  and  I 
meeting  him  in  earnest  opposition.    David  Wasson, 
powerful  in  verse  and  in  prose,  would  speak  against 
woman  suffrage.     When  driven  to  the  wall,  he  con 
fessed  that  he  did  not  believe  in  popular  suffrage  at 
all ;  and  when  forced  to  defend  this  position,  he 
would  instance  the  wicked  and  ill-governed  city  of 
New  York  as  reason  enough  for  his  views.     I   re 
member  his  going  away  after  such  a  discussion  very 
abruptly,  not  at  all  in  Dr.  Hedge's  grand  style,  but 
rather  as  if  he  shook  the  dust  of  our  opinions  from 
his  feet ;  for  no  one  of  the  radicals  would  counte 
nance  this  doctrine,  and  though  we  freely  confessed 
the  sins  of  New  York,  we  believed  not  a  whit  the 
less  in  the  elective  franchise,  with  amendments  and 
extensions. 

Dr.  Oliver  Wendell  Holmes,  one  day,  if  I  re 
member  rightly,  gave  a  very  succinct  and  clear 
statement  of  the  early  forms  of  Calvinistic  doc 
trine  as  held  in  this  country,  and  Wendell  Phillips 
lent  his  eloquent  speech  to  this  and  to  other  dis 
cussions. 

When  I  think  of  it,  I  believe  that  I  had  a  salon 
once  upon  a  time.  I  did  not  call  it  so,  nor  even 
think  of  it  as  such  ;  yet  within  it  were  gathered 
people  who  represented  many  and  various  aspects 

125 


The  of  life.  They  were  real  people,  not  lay  figures 
Salon  in  distinguished  by  names  and  clothes.  The  earnest 
America  humanitarian  interests  of  my  husband  brought  to 
our  home  a  number  of  persons  interested  in  reform, 
education,  and  progress.  It  was  my  part  to  mix 
in  with  this  graver  element  as  much  of  social  grace 
and  geniality  as  I  was  able  to  gather  about  me.  I 
was  never  afraid  to  bring  together  persons  who 
rarely  met  elsewhere  than  at  my  house,  confronting 
Theodore  Parker  with  some  archpriest  of  the  old 
orthodoxy,  or  William  Lloyd  Garrison  with  a  dec 
ade,  perhaps,  of  Beacon  Street  dames.  A  friend 
said,  on  one  of  these  occasions  :  "  Our  hostess  de 
lights  in  contrasts."  I  confess  that  I  did ;  but  I 
think  that  my  greatest  pleasure  was  in  the  lessons 
of  human  compatibility  which  I  learned  on  this 
wise.  I  started,  indeed,  with  the  conviction  that 
thought  and  character  are  the  foremost  values  in 
society,  and  was  not  afraid  nor  ashamed  to  offer 
these  to  my  guests,  with  or  without  the  stamp  of 
fashion  and  position.  The  result  amply  justified 
my  belief. 

Some  periods  in  our  own  history  are  more  favor 
able  to  such  intercourse  than  others.  The  agony 
and  enthusiasm  of  the  civil  war,  and  the  long  period 
of  ferment  and  disturbance  which  preceded  and  fol 
lowed  that  great  crisis,  —  these  social  agitations 
penetrated  the  very  fossils  of  the  body  politic. 
People  were  glad  to  meet  together,  glad  to  find 
126 


strength  and  comfort  among  those  who  lived  and  The 
walked  by  solid  convictions.     We  cannot  go  back  Salon  in 
to  that  time ;  we  would  not,  if  we  could ;  but  it  America 
was  a  grand  time  to  live  and  to  work  in. 

I  am  sorry  when  I  see  people  build  palaces  in 
America.  We  do  not  need  them.  Why  should 
we  bury  fortune  and  life  in  the  dead  state  of  rooms 
which  are  not  lived  in  ?  Why  should  we  double 
and  triple  for  ourselves  the  dangers  of  insufficient 
drainage  or  defective  sanitation  ?  Let  us  have  such 
houses  as  we  need,  —  comfortable,  well  aired,  well 
lighted,  adorned  with  such  art  as  we  can  appreciate, 
enlivened  by  such  company  as  we  can  enjoy.  Sim 
ilarly,  I  believe  that  we  should,  individually,  come 
much  nearer  to  the  real  purpose  of  a  salon  by  re 
stricting  the  number  of  our  guests  and  enlarging 
their  variety. 

If  we  are  to  have  a  salon,  do  not  let  us  think 
too  much  about  its  appearance  to  the  outside 
world,  —  how  it  will  be  reported,  and  extolled,  and 
envied.  Mr.  Emerson  withdrew  from  the  Boston 
Radical  Club  because  newspaper  reports  of  its 
meetings  were  allowed.  We  live  too  much  in  pub 
lic  to-day,  and  desire  too  much  the  seal  of  public 
notice. 

There  is  not  room  in  our  short  human  life  for 
both  shams  and  realities.  We  can  neither  pursue 
nor  possess  both.  I  think  of  this  now  entirely 
with  application  to  the  theme  under  consideration. 

127 


The          Let    us    not    exercise    sham    hospitality    to    sham 
Salon  in    friends.     Let  the  heart  of  our  household  be  sin- 
America  cere ;    let   our  home  affections  expand  to  a  wider 
human   brotherhood  and  sisterhood.      Let  us  be 
willing  to  take  trouble  to  gather  our  friends  to 
gether,  and  to  offer  them  such  entertainment  as  we 
can,  remembering  that  the  best  entertainment  is 
mutual. 

But  do  not  let  us  offend  ourselves  or  our  friends 
with  the  glare  of  lights,  the  noise  of  numbers,  in 
order  that  all  may  suffer  a  tedious  and  joyless  being 
together,  and  part  as  those  who  have  contributed 
to  each  other's  ennui,  all  sincere  and  reasonable 
intercourse  having  been  wanting  in  the  general  en 
counter. 

We  should  not  feel  bound,  either,  to  the  literal 
imitation  of  any  facts  or  features  of  European  life 
which  may  not  fit  well  upon  our  own.  In  many 
countries,  the  currents  of  human  life  have  become 
so  deepened  and  strengthened  by  habit  and  custom 
as  to  render  change  very  difficult,  and  growth  al 
most  impossible.  In  our  own,  on  the  contrary, 
life  is  fresh  and  fluent.  Its  boundaries  should  be 
elastic,  capable  even  of  indefinite  expansion. 

In  the  older  countries  of  which  I  speak,  political 
power  and  social  recognition  are  supposed  to  ema 
nate  from  some  autocratic  source,  and  the  effort 
and  ambition  of  all  naturally  look  toward  that 
source,  and,  knowing  none  other,  feel  a  personal 
128 


interest  in  maintaining  its  ascendency,  the  statu  quo.   The 
In  our  own  broad  land,  power  and  light  have  no  Salon  in 
such    inevitable    abiding-place,  but    may    emanate  America 
from  an  endless  variety  of  points  and  personalities. 

The  other  mode  of  living  may  have  much  to 
recommend  it  for  those  to  whom  it  is  native  and 
inherited,  but  it  is  not  for  us.  And  when  we  apol 
ogize  for  our  needs  and  deficiencies,  it  should  not 
be  on  the  ground  of  our  youth  and  inexperience. 
If  the  settlement  of  our  country  is  recent,  we  have 
behind  us  all  the  experience  of  the  human  race,  and 
are  bound  to  represent  its  fuller  and  riper  man 
hood.  Our  seriousness  is  sometimes  complained 
of,  usually  by  people  whose  jests  and  pleasantries 
fail  to  amuse  us.  Let  us  not  apologize  for  this, 
nor  envy  any  nation  its  power  of  trifling  and  of 
persiflage.  We  have  mighty  problems  to  solve; 
great  questions  to  answer.  The  fate  of  the  world's 
future  is  concerned  in  what  we  shall  do  or  leave 
undone. 

We  are  a  people  of  workers,  and  we  love  work — 
shame  on  him  who  is  ashamed  of  it !  When  we 
are  found,  on  our  own  or  other  shores,  idling  our 
life  away,  careless  of  vital  issues,  ignorant  of  true 
principles,  then  may  we  apologize,  then  let  us  make 
haste  to  amend. 


129 


Aristophanes 


Aristophanes 

WHEN   I  learned,  last  season,  that  the  atten-  Aristoph- 
tion  of  the  school  *  this  year  would  be  in  a  anes 
good   degree  given   to   the   dramatists   of  ancient 
Greece,  I  was  seized  with  a  desire  to  speak  of  one 
of  these,  to  whom  I  owe  a  debt  of  gratitude.    This 
is  the  great  Aristophanes,  the  first,  and  the  most 
illustrious,  of  comic  writers  for  the  stage,  —  first 
and  best,  at  least,  of  those  known  to  Western  lit 
erature. 

In  the  chance  talk  of  people  of  culture,  one 
hears  of  him  all  one's  life  long,  as  exceedingly 
amusing.  From  my  brothers  in  college,  I  learned 
the  "  Frog  Chorus  "  before  I  knew  even  a  letter  of 
the  Greek  alphabet.  Many  a  decade  after  this,  I 
walked  in  the  theatre  of  Bacchus  at  Athens,  and 
seeing  the  beauty  of  the  marble  seats,  still  ranged  in 
perfect  order,  and  feeling  the  glory  and  dignity  of 
the  whole  surrounding,  I  seemed  to  guess  that  the 
comedies  represented  there  were  not  desired  to 
amuse  idle  clowns  nor  to  provoke  vulgar  laughter. 

At  the  foot  of  the  Acropolis,  with  the  Parthenon 
in  sight  and  the  colossal  statue  of  Minerva  tower- 

*  Read  before  the  Concord  School  of  Philosophy. 

133 


Aristoph-  ing  above  the  glittering  temples,  the  poet  and  his 
anes  audience  surely  had  need  to  bethink  themselves  of 

the  wisdom  which  lies  in  laughter,  of  the  ethics  of 
the  humorous,  —  a  topic  well  worth  the  considera 
tion  of  students  of  philosophy.  The  ethics  of  the 
humorous,  the  laughter  of  the  gods  !  "  He  that 
sitteth  in  the  heavens  shall  laugh  them  to  scorn." 
Did  not  even  the  gentle  Christ  intend  satire  when, 
after  recognizing  the  zeal  with  which  an  ox  or  an 
ass  would  be  drawn  out  of  a  pit  on  the  sacred  day, 
he  asked  :  "And  shall  not  this  woman,  whom  Satan 
hath  bound,  lo  !  these  eighteen  years,  be  loosed 
from  her  infirmity  on  the  sabbath  day  ? " 

When  a  Greek  tragedy  is  performed  before  us, 
we  are  amazed  at  its  force,  its  coherence,  and  its 
simplicity.  What  profound  study  and  quick  sense 
of  the  heroic  in  nature  must  have  characterized 
the  man  who,  across  the  great  gulf  of  centuries, 
can  so  sweep  our  heart-strings,  and  draw  from  them 
such  responsive  music  !  Our  praise  of  these  great 
works  almost  sounds  conceited.  It  would  be  more 
fitting  for  us  to  sit  in  silence  and  bewail  our  own 
smallness.  Comedy,  too,  has  her  grandeur ;  and 
when  she  walks  the  stage  in  robe  and  buskins,  she, 
too,  is  to  receive  the  highest  crown,  and  her  lessons 
are  to  be  laid  to  heart. 

I  will  venture  a  word  here  concerning  the  sub 
jective  side  of  comedy.  Is  it  the  very  depth  and 


quick  of  our  self-love  which  is  reached  by  the  Aristoph- 
subtle  sting  which  calls  up  a  blush  where  no  ser-  anes 
monizing  would  have  that  effect  ?  Deep  satire 
touches  the  heroic  within  us.  "  Miserable  sinners 
are  ye  all,"  says  the  preacher,  "  vanity  of  vanities  !  " 
and  we  sit  contentedly,  and  say  Amen.  But  here 
comes  some  one  who  sets  up  our  meannesses  and 
incongruities  before  us  so  that  they  topple  over 
and  tumble  down.  And  then,  strange  to  say,  we 
feel  in  ourselves  this  same  power ;  and  considering 
our  follies  in  the  same  light,  we  are  compelled  to 
deride,  and  also  to  forsake  them. 

The  miseries  of  war  and  the  desirableness  of  peace 
were  impressed  strongly  on  the  mind  of  Aristoph 
anes.  The  Peloponnesian  War  dragged  on  from 
year  to  year  with  varying  fortune ;  and  though  vic 
tory  often  crowned  the  arms  of  the  Athenians,  its 
glory  was  dearly  paid  for  by  the  devastation  which 
the  Lacedaemonians  inflicted  upon  the  territory  of 
Attica.  "  The  Acharnians,"  "  The  Knights,"  and 
"  Peace  "  deal  with  this  topic  in  various  forms.  In 
the  first  of  these  is  introduced,  as  the  chief  charac 
ter,  Dikaeopolis,  a  country  gentleman  who,  in  conse 
quence  of  the  Spartan  invasion,  has  been  forced  to 
forsake  his  estates,  and  to  take  shelter  in  the  city. 
He  naturally  desires  the  speedy  conclusion  of  hos 
tilities,  and  to  this  end  attends  the  assembly,  deter 
mined,  as  he  says : 

'35 


AristOph-  To  bawl,  to  abuse,  to  interrupt  the  speakers 

Whenever  I  hear  a  word  of  any  kind, 
Except  for  an  immediate  peace. 

This  method  reminds  us  of  the  obstructionists 
in  the  British  Parliament.  One  man  speaks  of 
himself  as  loathing  the  city  and  longing  to  return 

To  my  poor  village  and  my  farm 
That  never  used  to  cry:   "  Come  buy  my  charcoal," 
Nor  "  buy  my  oil,"  nor  "  buy  my  anything," 
But  gave  me  what  I  wanted,  freely  and  fairly, 
Clear  of  all  cost,  with  never  a  word  of  buying. 

After  various  laughable  adventures,  Dikaeopolis 
finds  it  possible  to  conclude  a  truce  with  the  invad 
ers  on  his  own  account,  in  which  his  neighbors,  the 
Acharnians,  are  not  included.  He  returns  to  his 
farm,  and  goes  forth  with  wife  and  daughter  to  per 
form  the  sacrifice  fitting  for  the  occasion. 


DIK^EOPOLIS 


Silence!     Move  forward,  the  Canephora. 
You,  Xanthias,  follow  close  behind  her  there 
In  a  proper  manner,  with  your  pole  and  emblem. 

WIFE 

Set  down  the  basket,  daughter,  and  begin 
The  ceremony. 

DAUGHTER 

Give  me  the  cruet,  mother, 

And  let  me  pour  it  on  the  holy  cake. 

136 


Aristoph- 

O  blessed  Bacchus,  what  a  joy  it  is 

To  go  thus  unmolested,  undisturbed, 

My  wife,  my  children,  and  my  family, 

With  our  accustomed  joyful  ceremony, 

To  celebrate  thy  festival  in  my  farm. 

Well,  here's  success  to  the  truce  of  thirty  years. 

WIFE 

Mind  your  behavior,  child.      Carry  the  basket 
In  a  modest,  proper  manner  ;  look  demure  ; 
Mind  your  gold  trinkets,  they  '11  be  stolen  else. 

Dikaeopolis  now  intones  a  hymn  to  Bacchus,  but 
is  interrupted  by  the  violent  threats  of  his  war- 
loving  neighbors,  the  Acharnians,  who  break  out 
in  injurious  language,  and  threaten  the  life  of  the 
miscreant  who  has  made  peace  with  the  enemies  of 
his  country  solely  for  his  own  interests.  With  a 
good  deal  of  difficulty,  he  persuades  the  enraged 
crowd  to  allow  him  to  argue  his  case  before  them, 
and  this  fact  makes  us  acquainted  with  another 
leading  trait  in  Aristophanes ;  viz.,  his  polemic 
opposition  to  the  poet  Euripides.  Dikaeopolis, 
wishing  to  make  a  favorable  impression  upon  the 
rustics,  hies  to  the  house  of  Euripides,  whose  servant 
parleys  with  him  in  true  transcendental  language. 


DIK^OPOLIS 

Euripides  within  ? 


137 


Aristaphr  SERVANT 

anes  Within,  and  not  within.      You  comprehend  me  ? 

DIKJEOPOLIS 

Within  and  not  within  !      What  do  you  mean  ? 

SERVANT 

His  outward  man 
Is  in  the  garret  writing  tragedy  ; 
While  his  essential  being  is  abroad 
Pursuing  whimsies  in  the  world  of  fancy. 

The  visitor  now  calls  aloud  upon  the  poet : 

Euripides,  Euripides,  come  down, 

If  ever  you  came  down  in  all  your  life  ! 

'Tis  I,  Dikaeopolis,  from  Chollidae. 

This  Chollidae  probably  corresponded  to  the  Pea 
Ridge  often  quoted  in  our  day.  Euripides  de 
clines  to  come  down,  but  is  presently  made  visible 
by  some  device  of  the  scene-shifter.  In  the  dia 
logue  that  follows,  Aristophanes  ridicules  the  per 
sonages  and  the  costumes  brought  upon  the  stage 
by  Euripides,  and  reflects  unhandsomely  upon  the 
poet's  mother,  who  was  said  to  have  been  a  vender 
of  vegetables.  Dikaeopolis  does  not  seek  to  bor 
row  poetry  or  eloquence  from  Euripides,  but  prays 
him  to  lend  him  "  a  suit  of  tatters  from  a  worn-out 
tragedy." 

For  mercy's  sake,  for  I  Jm  obliged  to  make 

A  speech  in  my  own  defence  before  the  chorus, 

138 


A  long  pathetic  speech,  this  very  day,  Aristoph- 

And  if  it  fails,  the  doom  of  death  betides  me.  anes 

Euripides  now  asks  what  especial  costume  would 
suit  the  need  of  Dikaeopolis,  and  calls  over  the 
most  pitiful  names  in  his  tragedies  :  "  Do  you  want 
the  dress  of  Oineos  ?  "  —  "  Oh,  no  !  something 
much  more  wretched."  —  "Phoenix?"  —  "No; 
much  worse  than  Phoenix."  —  "  Philocletes  ?  "  — 
"  No."  —  "Lame  Bellerophon  ? "  Dikaeopolis  says : 

'Twas  not  Bellerophon,  but  very  like  him, 

A  kind  of  smooth,  fine-spoken  character  ; 

A  beggar  into  the  bargain,  and  a  cripple 

With  a  grand  command  of  words,  bothering  and  begging. 

Euripides  by  this  description  recognizes  the  per 
sonage  intended,  viz.,  Telephus,  the  physician,  and 
orders  his  servant  to  go  and  fetch  the  ragged  suit, 
which  he  will  find  "next  to  the  tatters  of  Thyestes, 
just  over  Ino's."  Dikaeopolis  exclaims,  on  seeing 
the  mass  of  holes  and  patches,  but  asks,  further,  a 
little  Mysian  bonnet  for  his  head,  a  beggar's  staffj 
a  dirty  little  basket,  a  broken  pipkin ;  all  of  which 
Euripides  grants,  to  be  rid  of  him.  All  this  inso 
lence  the  visitor  sums  up  in  the  following  lines  :  — 

I  wish  I  may  be  hanged,  my  dear  Euripides, 
If  ever  I  trouble  you  for  anything, 
Except  one  little,  little,  little  boon, 
A  single  lettuce  from  your  mother's  stall. 

'39 


Aristoph-      This  is  more  than  Euripides  can  bear,  and  the 
anes  gates  are  now  shut  upon  the  intruder. 

Later  in  the  play,  Dikaeopolis  appears  in  com 
pany  with  the  General  Lamachus.  A  sudden  call 
summons  this  last  to  muster  his  men  and  march 
forth  to  repel  a  party  of  marauders.  Almost  at 
the  same  moment,  Dikaeopolis  is  summoned  to 
attend  the  feast  of  Bacchus,  and  to  bring  his  best 
cookery  with  him.  In  the  dialogue  that  follows, 
the  valiant  soldier  and  the  valiant  trencherman 
appear  in  humorous  contrast. 

LAMACHUS 

Boy,  boy,  bring  out  here  my  haversack. 

DIKAEOPOLIS 

Boy,  boy,  hither  bring  my  dinner  service. 

LAMACHUS 

Bring  salt  flavored  with  thyme,  boy,  and  onions. 

DIK^OPOLIS 

Bring  me  a  cutlet.      Onions  make  me  ill. 

LAMACHUS 

Bring  hither  pickled  fish,  stale. 

DIK^OPOLIS 

And  to  me  a  fat  pudding.      I  will  cook  it  yonder. 

LAMACHUS 

Bring  me  my  plumes  and  my  helmet. 
140 


Aristoph- 
Bring  me  doves  and  thrushes.  anes 

LAMACHUS 

Fair  and  white  is  the  plume  of  the  ostrich. 

DIK^EOPOLIS 

Fair  and  yellow  is  the  flesh  of  the  dove. 

LAMACHUS 

O  man  !  leave  off  laughing  at  my  weapons. 

DIK^EOPOLIS 

O  man !   don't  you  look  at  my  thrushes. 

LAMACHUS 

Bring  the  case  that  holds  my  plumes. 

DIK^OPOLIS 
And  bring  me  a  dish  of  hare. 

LAMACHUS 

But  the  moths  have  eaten  my  crest. 

Dikaeopolis  makes  some  insolent  rejoinder,  at 
which  the  general  takes  fire.  He  calls  for  his  lance  ; 
Dikseopolis,  for  the  spit,  which  he  frees  from  the 
roast  meat.  Lamachus  raises  his  Gorgon-orbed 
shield;  Dikseopolis  lifts  a  full-orbed  pancake.  La 
machus  then  performs  a  mock  act  of  divination  :  — 

Pour  oil  upon  the  shield.      What  do  I  trace 
In  the  divining  mirror  ?     '  T  is  the  face 


AristOph-  Of  an  olc*  cowar<^»  fortified  with  fear, 

That  sees  his  trial  for  desertion  near. 

anes 

DIKJEOPOLIS 

Pour  honey  on  the  pancake.      What  appears  ? 
A  comely  personage,  advanced  in  years, 
Firmly  resolved  to  laugh  at  and  defy 
Both  Lamachus  and  the  Gorgon  family. 

In  "  The  Frogs,"  god  and  demigod,  Bacchus 
and  Hercules,  are  put  upon  the  stage  with  audacious 
humor.  The  first  has  borrowed  the  costume  of 
the  second,  in  which  unfitting  garb  he  knocks  at 
Hercules'  door  on  his  way  to  Hades,  his  errand 
being  to  find  and  bring  back  Euripides.  The  dearth 
of  clever  poets  is  the  reason  alleged  for  this  under 
taking.  Hercules  suggests  to  him  various  poets 
who  are  still  on  earth.  Bacchus  condemns  them 
as  "  warblers  of  the  grove  ;  poor,  puny  wretches  !  " 
He  now  asks  Hercules  for  introductions  to  his 
friends  in  the  lower  regions,  and  for 

Any  communication  about  the  country, 

The  roads,  the  streets,  the  bridges,  public  houses 

And  lodgings,  free  from  bugs  and  fleas,  if  possible. 

Hercules  mentions  various  ways  of  arriving  at 
the  infernal  regions:  "The  hanging  road,  —  rope 
and  noose  ?"  — "  That 's  too  stifling."  —  "The 
pestle  and  mortar,  then,  —  the  beaten  road  ?  "  — 
"  No  ;  that  gives  one  cold  feet."  —  "  Go,  then,  to 

142 


the  tower  of  the  Keramicus,  and  throw  yourself  Aristoph- 
headlong."     No ;  Bacchus  does  not  wish  to  have  anes 
his  brains  dashed  out.     He  would  go  by  the  road 
which  Hercules  took.     Of  this,  Hercules  gives  an 
alarming  account,  beginning  with  the  bottomless 
lake  and  the  boat  of  Charon.     Bacchus  determines 
to  set  forth,  but  is  detained  by  the  recalcitrance 
of  his  servant,  Xanthias,  who  refuses  to  carry  his 
bundle  any  further. 

A  funeral  now  comes  across  the  stage.  Bacchus 
asks  the  dead  man  if  he  is  willing  to  carry  some 
bundles  to  Hell  for  him.  The  dead  man  demands 
two  drachmas  for  the  service.  Bacchus  offers  him 
ninepence,  which  he  angrily  refuses,  and  is  carried 
out  of  sight.  Charon  presently  appears,  and  makes 
known,  like  a  good  ferryman,  the  points  at  which 
he  will  deliver  passengers. 

Who  wants  the  ferryman  ? 

Anybody  waiting  to  remove  from  the  sorrows  of  life  ? 
A  passage  to  Lethe's  wharf?  to  Cerberus'  Beach  ? 
To  Tartarus  ?  to  Tenaros  ?  to  Perdition  ? 

Just  so,  in  my  youth,  sailing  on  the  Hudson, 
one  heard  all  night  the  sound  of  Peekskill  land 
ing  !  Fishkill  landing  !  Rhinebeck  landing  !  — 
with  darkness  and  swish  of  steam  quite  infernal 
enough. 

Charon  takes  Bacchus  on  board,  but  compels  him 
to  do  his  part  of  the  rowing,  promising  him  :  "  As 

'43 


Aristofh-  soon  as  you  begin  you  shall  have  music  that  will 

anes  teach  you  to  keep  time." 

This  music  is  the  famous  "  Chorus  of  the  Frogs," 
beginning,  "  Brokekekesh,  koash,  koash,"  and  run 
ning  through  many  lines,  with  this  occasional  re 
frain,  of  which  Bacchus  soon  tires,  as  he  does  of  the 
oar.  His  servant  Xanthias  is  obliged  to  make  the 
journey  by  land  and  on  foot,  Charon  bidding  him 
wait  for  his  master  at  the  Stone  of  Repentance,  by 
the  Slough  of  Despond,  beyond  the  Tribulations. 
After  encountering  the  Empousa,  a  nursery  hob 
goblin,  they  meet  the  spirits  of  the  initiated,  sing 
ing  hymns  to  Bacchus  —  whom  they  invoke  as 
Jacchus  —  and  to  Ceres.  This  part  of  the  play,  in 
tended,  Frere  says,  to  ridicule  the  Eleusinian  mys 
teries,  is  curiously  human  in  its  incongruity,  —  a 
jumble  of  the  beautiful  and  the  trivial,  I  must 
quote  from  it  the  closing  strophe ;  — 

Let  us  hasten,  let  us  fly 
Where  the  lovely  meadows  lie, 
Where  the  living  waters  flow, 
Where  the  roses  bloom  and  blow. 
Heirs  of  immortality, 
Segregated  safe  and  pure, 
Easy,  sorrowless,  secure, 
Since  our  earthly  course  is  run, 
We  behold  a  brighter  sun. 

Such  sweet  words  we  to-day  could  expect  to  hear 
from  the  lips  of  our  own  dear  ones,  gone  before. 
144 


Very  incongruous  is  certainly  this  picture  of  Aristofh- 
Bacchus,  in  a  cowardly  and  ribald  state  of  mind,  anes 
listening  to  the  hymn  which  celebrates  his  divine 
aspect.  Jacchus,  whom  the  spirits  invoke,  is  the 
glorified  Bacchus,  the  highest  ideal  of  what  was  vital 
religion  in  those  days.  But  the  god  himself  is  not 
professionally,  only  personally,  present,  and,  wear 
ing  the  disguise  of  Hercules,  in  no  way  notices  or 
responds  to  the  strophes  which  invoke  him.  He 
asks  the  band  indeed  to  direct  him  to  Pluto's  house, 
which  turns  out  to  be  near  at  hand. 

Before  its  door,  Bacchus  is  seized  with  such  a  fit 
of  timidity  that,  instead  of  knocking,  he  asks  his 
servant  to  tell  him  how  the  native  inhabitants  of 
the  region  knock  at  doors.  Reproved  by  the  ser 
vant,  he  knocks,  and  announces  himself  as  the  val 
iant  Hercules.  ^Eacus,  the  porter,  now  rushes  out 
upon  him  with  violent  abuse, reviling  him  for  having 
stolen,  or  attempted  to  steal,  the  watch-dog,Cerberus, 
and  threatening  him  with  every  horror  which  Hell 
can  inflict,  ^acus  departs,  and  Bacchus  persuades 
his  servant  to  don  the  borrowed  garb  of  Hercules, 
while  he  loads  himself  with  the  baggage  which  the 
other  was  carrying.  Proserpine,  however,  sends  her 
maid  to  invite  the  supposed  Hercules  to  a  feast  of 
dainties.  Xanthias  now  assumes  the  manners  befit 
ting  the  hero,  at  which  Bacchus  orders  him  to  change 
dresses  with  him  once  more,  and  assume  his  own 
costume,  which  he  does.  Hardly  have  they  done 


Aristoph-  this,  when  Bacchus  is  again  set  upon  by  two  frantic 
anes  women,  who  shriek  in  his  ears  the  deeds  of  glut 

tony  committed  by  Hercules  in  Hades,  and  not 
paid  for. 

There;  that's  he 

That  came  to  our  house,  ate  those  nineteen  loaves. 
Aye  ;  sure  enough.      That 's  he,  the  very  man  ; 
And  a  dozen  and  a  half  of  cutlets  and  fried  chops, 
At  a  penny  ha'  penny  apiece.      And  all  the  garlic, 
And  the  good  green  cheese  that  he  gorged  at  once. 
And  then,  when  I  called  for  payment,  he  looked  fierce 
And  stared  me  in  the  face,  and  grinned  and  roared. 

The  women  threaten  the  false  Hercules  with  the 
pains  and  penalties  of  swindling.  He  now  pre 
tends  to  soliloquize  :  "  I  love  poor  Xanthias  dearly  ; 
that  I  do." 

"  Yes,"  says  Xanthias,  "  I  know  why ;  but  it 's 
of  no  use.  I  won't  act  Hercules."  Xanthias,  how 
ever,  allows  himself  to  be  persuaded,  and  when 
jEacus,  appearing  with  a  force,  cries  :  "  Arrest  me 
there  that  fellow  that  stole  the  dog,"  Xanthias  con 
trives  to  make  an  effectual  resistance.  Having  thus 
gained  time,  he  assures  ^Eacus  that  he  never  stole 
so  much  as  a  hair  of  his  dog's  tail ;  but  gives  him 
leave  to  put  Bacchus,  his  supposed  slave,  to  the 
torture,  in  order  to  elicit  from  him  the  truth.  ^Ea- 
cus,  softened  by  this  proposal,  asks  in  which  way 
the  master  would  prefer  to  have  his  slave  tortured. 
Xanthias  replies : 

146 


In  your  own  way,  with  the  lash,  with  knots  and  screws,  Aristoth- 

With  the  common,  usual,  customary  tortures,  anes 

With  the  rack,  with  the  water  torture,  any  sort  of  way, 
With  fire  and  vinegar  —  all  sorts  of  ways. 

Bacchus,  thus  driven  to  the  wall,  proclaims  his 
divinity,  and  claims  Xanthias  as  his  slave.  The 
latter  suggests  that  if  Bacchus  is  a  divinity,  he  may 
be  beaten  without  injury,  as  he  will  not  feel  it. 
Bacchus  retorts,  "  If  you  are  Hercules,  so  may 
you."  ^Eacus,  to  ascertain  the  truth,  impartially 
belabors  them  both.  Each,  in  turn,  cries  out,  and 
pretends  to  have  quoted  from  the  poets.  JEacus, 
unable  to  decide  which  is  the  god  and  which  the 
impostor,  brings  them  both  before  Proserpine  and 
Pluto. 

In  the  course  of  a  delicious  dialogue  between  the 
two  servants,  ^Eacus  and  Xanthias,  it  is  mentioned 
that  Euripides,  on  coming  to  the  shades,  had 
driven  ^Eschylus  from  the  seat  of  honor  at  Pluto's 
board,  holding  himself  to  be  the  worthier  poet. 
.^Eschylus  has  objected  to  this,  and  the  matter  is 
now  to  be  settled  by  a  trial  of  skill  in  which  Bac 
chus  is  to  be  the  umpire. 

The  shades  of  Euripides  and  ^Eschylus  appear 
in  the  next  scene,  with  Bacchus  between  them. 
^Eschylus  wishes  the  trial  had  taken  place  else 
where.  Why  ?  Because  while  his  tragedies  live 
on  earth,  those  of  Euripides  are  dead,  and  have 
descended  with  him  to  bear  him  company  in  Hell. 


Aristoph-  The  encounter  of  wits  between  the  two  is  of  the 
anes          grandiose  comic,  each  taunting  the  other  with  his 

faults  of  composition.      Euripides    says    of  JEs- 

chylus : 

He  never  used  a  simple  word 

But  bulwarks  and  scamanders  and  hippogriffs  and  Gorgons, 

Bloody,  remorseless  phrases. 

./Eschylus  rejoins : 

Well,  then,  thou  paltry  wretch,  explain 
What  were  your  own  devices  ? 

Euripides  says  that  he  found  the  Muse 

Puffed  and  pampered 
With  pompous  sentences,  a  cumbrous  huge  virago. 

In  order  to  bring  her  to  a  more  genteel  figure : 

I  fed  her  with  plain  household  phrase  and  cool  familiar  salad, 

With  water  gruel  episode,  with  sentimental  jelly, 

With  moral  mince-meat,  till  at  length  I  brought  her  into  compass. 

I  kept  my  plots  distinct  and  clear  to  prevent  confusion. 

My  leading  characters  rehearsed  their  pedigrees  for  prologues. 

"  For  all  this,"  says  ^Eschyius,  "  you  ought  to 
have  been  hanged."  ^Eschylus  now  speaks  of  the 
grand  old  days,  of  the  great  themes  and  works  of 
early  poetry : 

148 


Such  is  the  duty,  the  task  of  a  poet,  Aristoph- 

Fulfilling  in  honor  his  duty  and  trust.  anes 

Look  to  traditional  history,  look; 

See  what  a  blessing  illustrious  poets 

Conferred  on  mankind  in  the  centuries  past. 

Orpheus  instructed  mankind  in  religion, 

Reclaimed  them  from  bloodshed  and  barbarous  rites. 

Musaeus  delivered  the  doctrine  of  medicine, 

And  warnings  prophetic  for  ages  to  come. 

Next  came  old  Hesiod,  teaching  us  husbandry, 

Rural  economy,  rural  astronomy, 

Homely  morality,  labor  and  thrift. 

Homer  himself,  our  adorable  Homer, 

What  was  his  title  to  praise  and  renown  ? 

What  but  the  worth  of  the  lessons  he  taught  us, 

Discipline,  arms,  and  equipment  of  war. 

And  here  the  poet  comes  to  speak  of  a  question 
which  is  surely  prominent  to-day  in  the  minds  of 
thoughtful  people.  ^schylus,  in  his  argument 
against  Euripides,  speaks  of  the  noble  examples 
which  he  himself  has  brought  upon  the  stage,  re 
proaches  his  adversary  with  the  objectionable  stories 
of  Sthenobaeus  and  Phaedra,  with  which  he,  Eu 
ripides  has  corrupted  the  public  taste. 

Euripides  alleges  in  his  own  defence  that  he  did 
not  invent  those  stories.  "  Phaedra's  affair  was  a 
matter  of  fact."  ^Eschylus  rejoins  : 


A  fact  with  a  vengeance,  but  horrible  facts 
Should  be  buried  in  silence,  not  bruited  abroad, 


149 


AristoDh-  Nor  brought  forth  on  the  stage,  nor  emblazoned  in  poetry. 

Children  and  boys  have  a  teacher  assigned  them  ; 
anes  The  bard  is  a  master  for  manhood  and  youth, 

Bound  to  instruct  them  in  virtue  and  truth 

Beholden  and  bound. 

I  do  not  know  which  of  the  plays  of  Aristoph 
anes  is  considered  the  best  by  those  who  are  com 
petent  to  speak  authoritatively  upon  their  merits  ; 
but  of  those  that  I  know,  this  drama  of  "  The 
Frogs  "  seems  to  me  to  exhibit  most  fully  the  scope 
and  extent  of  his  comic  power.  Condescending  in 
parts  to  what  is  called  low  comedy,  —  /'.  e.y  the  farci 
cal,  based  upon  the  sense  of  what  all  know  and  ex 
perience, —  it  rises  elsewhere  to  the  highest  domain 
of  literary  criticism  and  expression. 

The  action  between  Bacchus  and  his  slave  forci 
bly  reminds  us  of  Cervantes,  though  master  and 
man  alike  have  in  them  more  of  Sancho  Panza  than 
of  Quixote.  In  the  journey  to  the  palace  of  Pluto, 
I  see  the  prototype  of  what  the  great  mediaeval  poet 
called  "  The  Divine  Comedy."  I  find  in  both  the 
same  weird  imagination,  the  same  curious  inter- 
braiding  of  the  ridiculous  and  the  grandiose.  This, 
of  course,  with  the  difference  that  the  Greek  poet 
affords  us  only  a  brief  view  of  Hell,  while  Dante 
detains  us  long  enough  to  give  us  a  realizing  sense 
of  what  it  is,  or  might  be.  This  same  mingling  of 
the  awful  and  the  grotesque  suggests  to  me  passages 
in  our  own  Hawthorne,  similarly  at  home  with  the 

150 


supernatural,  which  underlies  the  story  of  "  The  Aristopk- 
Scarlet  Letter,"  and  flashes  out  in  "  The  Celestial  anes 
Railroad."     But  I  must  come  back  to  Dante,  who 
can  amuse  us  with  the  tricks  of  demons,  and  can 
lift  us  to  the  music  of  the  spheres.     So  Aristoph 
anes  can  show  us,  on  the  one  hand,  the  humorous 
relations  of  a  coward  and  a  clown ;    and,  on  the 
other,  can  put  into  the  mouth  of  the  great  JEschy- 
lus  such  words  as  he  might  fitly  have  spoken. 

Perhaps  the  very  extravagance  of  fun  is  carried 
even  further  in  the  drama  of  "  The  Birds  "  than  in 
those  already  quoted  from.  Its  conceits  are,  at 
any  rate,  most  original,  and,  so  far  as  I  know,  it  is 
without  prototype  or  parallel  in  its  matter  and 
manner. 

The  argument  of  the  play  can  be  briefly  stated. 
Peisthetairus,  an  Athenian  citizen,  dissatisfied  with 
the  state  of  things  in  his  own  country,  visits  the 
Hoopoe  with  the  intention  of  securing  his  assist 
ance  in  founding  a  new  state,  the  dominion  of  the 
birds.  He  takes  with  him  a  good-natured  simple 
ton  of  a  friend,  Well-hoping,  by  name.  Now  the 
Hoopoe  in  question,  according  to  the  old  legend,  had 
been  known  in  a  previous  state  of  being  as  Tereus, 
King  of  Thrace,  and  the  metamorphosis  which 
changed  him  to  a  bird  had  changed  his  subjects  also 
into  representatives  of  the  various  feathered  tribes. 
These,  however,  far  from  sharing  the  polite  and 
hospitable  character  of  their  master,  become  enraged 


Aristofh-  at  the  intrusion  of  the  strangers,  and  propose  to 
anes  attack  them  in  military  style.     The  visitors  seize 

a  spit,  the  lid  of  a  pot,  and  various  other  culinary 
articles,  and  prepare  to  make  what  defence  they 
may,  while  the  birds  "  present  beaks,"  and  prepare 
to  charge.  The  Hoopce  here  interposes,  and  claims 
their  attention  for  the  project  which  Peisthetairus 
has  to  unfold. 

The  wily  Athenian  begins  his  address  with  pro 
digious  flattery,  calling  the  feathered  folk  "  a  people 
of  sovereigns,"  more  ancient  of  origin  than  man, 
his  deities,  or  his  world.  In  support  of  this  last 
clause,  he  quotes  a  fable  of  jEsop,  who  narrates 
that  the  lark  was  embarrassed  to  bury  his  father, 
because  the  earth  did  not  exist  at  the  time  of  his 
death.  Sovereignty,  of  old,  belonged  to  the  birds. 
The  stride  of  the  cock  sufficiently  shows  his  royal 
origin,  and  his  authority  is  still  made  evident  by 
the  alacrity  with  which  the  whole  slumbering  world 
responds  to  his  morning  reveille.  The  kite  once 
reigned  in  Greece  ;  the  cuckoo  in  Sidon  and  Egypt. 
Jupiter  has  usurped  the  eagle's  command,  but  dares 
not  appear  without  him,  while 

Each  of  the  gods  had  his  separate  fowl,  — 
Apollo  the  hawk  and  Minerva  the  owl. 

Peisthetairus  proposes  that,  in  order  to  recover 
their  lost  sovereignty,  the  birds  shall  build  in  the 
air  a  strongly  fortified  city.  This  done,  they  shall 

152 


send  a  herald  to  Jove  to  demand  his  immediate  Aristoph- 
abdication.  If  the  celestials  refuse  to  govern  them-  anes 
selves  accordingly,  they  are  to  be  blockaded.  This 
blockade  seems  presently  to  obtain,  and  heavenly 
Iris,  flying  across  the  sky  on  a  message  from  the 
gods,  is  caught,  arraigned,  and  declared  worthy  of 
death,  —  the  penalty  of  non-observance.  The  pros 
pective  city  receives  the  name  of  "  Nephelococca 
gia,"  and  this  is  scarcely  decided  upon  before  a 
poet  arrives  to  celebrate  in  an  ode  the  mighty 
Nephelococcagia  state. 

Then  comes  a  soothsayer  to  order  the  appropri 
ate  sacrifices  ;  then  an  astronomer,  with  instruments 
to'  measure  the  due  proportions  of  the  city  ;  then 
a  would-be  parricide,  who  announces  himself  as  a 
lover  of  the  bird  empire,  and  especially  of  that  law 
which  allows  a  man  to  beat  his  father.  Peisthe- 
tairus  confesses  that,  in  the  bird  domain,  the 
chicken  is  sometimes  applauded  for  clapper-claw 
ing  the  old  cock.  When,  however,  his  visitor  ex 
presses  a  wish  to  throttle  his  parent  and  seize  upon 
his  estate,  Peisthetairus  refers  him  to  the  law  of 
the  storks,  by  which  the  son  is  under  obligation  to 
feed  and  maintain  the  parent.  This  law,  he  says, 
prevails  in  Nephelococcagia,  and  the  parricide  ac 
cordingly  betakes  himself  elsewhere. 

All  this  admirable  fooling  ends  in  the  complete 
success  of  the  birds.  Jupiter  sends  an  embassy  to 
treat  for  peace,  and  by  a  curious  juggle,  imitating, 

'53 


Aristofh-  no  doubt,  the  political    processes   of  those  days, 

anes  Peisthetairus  becomes   recognized    as    the    lawful 

sovereign  of  Nephelococcagia,  and  receives,  on  his 

demand,  the  hand  of  Jupiter's  favorite  queen  in 

marriage. 

I  have  given  my  time  too  fully  to  the  Greek 
poet  to  be  able  to  make  any  extended  comparison 
between  his  works  and  those  of  the  Elizabethan 
dramatists.  But  from  the  plays  which  trifle  so 
with  the  grim  facts  of  nature,  I  can  fly  to  the 
"  Midsummer  Night's  Dream,"  and  alight  for  a 
moment  on  one  of  its  golden  branches.  Shake 
speare's  Athenian  clowns  are  rather  Aristophanic 
in  color.  The  play  of  "  Pyramus  and  Thisbe  " 
might  have  formed  one  interlude  on  that  very  stage 
which  had  in  sight  the  glories  of  the  Parthenon. 
The  exquisite  poetry  which  redeems  their  nonsense 
has  its  parallel  in  the  lovely  "  Chorus  of  the 
Clouds,"  the  ode  to  Peace,  and  other  glimpses  of 
the  serious  Aristophanes,  which  here  and  there  look 
out  from  behind  the  mask  of  the  comedian. 

I  am  very  doubtful  whether  good  Greek  schol 
ars  will  think  my  selections  given  here  at  all  the 
best  that  could  be  made.  I  will  remind  them  of 
an  Eastern  tale  in  which  a  party  of  travellers  were 
led,  in  the  dark,  through  an  enchanted  region  in 
which  showers  of  some  unknown  substance  fell 
around  them,  while  a  voice  cried :  "  They  that  do 
not  gather  any  will  grieve,  and  they  who  do  gather 
'54 


will  grieve  that  they  did  not  gather  more,  for  these  Aristoph- 
that  fall  are  diamonds."     So,  of  these  bright  dia-  anes 
monds    of  matchless   Greek  wit,  I    have  tried  to 
gather  some,  but  may  well  say  I  grieve  that  I  have 
not  gathered  more,  and  more  wisely. 

These  works  are  to  us  exquisite  pieces  of  humor- 
istic  extravagance,  but  to  the  people  of  the  time 
they  were  far  more  than  this ;  viz.y  the  lesson  of 
ridicule  for  what  was  tasteless  and  ridiculous  in 
Athenian  society,  and  the  punishment  of  scathing 
satire  for  what  was  unworthy.  Annotators  tell  us 
that  the  plays  are  full  of  allusions  to  prominent 
characters  of  the  day.  Some  of  these,  as  is  well 
known,  the  poet  sets  upon  the  stage  in  masquer 
ades  which  reveal,  more  than  they  conceal,  their 
true  personality.  For  the  demagogue  Cleon,  and 
for  the  playwright  Euripides,  he  has  no  mercy. 

The  patient  student  of  Aristophanes  and  his  com 
mentators  will  acquire  a  very  competent  knowl 
edge  of  the  politics  of  the  wise  little  city  at  the 
time  of  which  he  treats,  also  of  its  literary  person 
ages,  pedants  or  sophists.  The  works  give  us,  I 
think,  a  very  favorable  impression  of  the  public 
to  whose  apprehension  they  were  presented,  —  a 
quick-witted  people,  surely,  able  to  follow  the  sud 
den  turns  and  doublings  of  the  poet's  fancy ;  not 
to  be  surprised  into  stupidity  by  any  ambush 
sprung  upon  them  out  of  obscurity. 

Compare  with  this  the  difficulty  of  commending 

'55 


Aristoph-  anything  worth  thinking  of  to  the  attention  of  a 
anes  modern  theatre  audience.     It  is  true  that  much  of 

this  Greek  wit  must  needs  have  been  caviare  to  the 
multitude,  but  its  seasoning,  no  doubt,  penetrated 
the  body  politic.  I  remember,  a  score  or  more  of 
years  ago,  that  a  friend  said  that  it  was  good  and 
useful  to  have  some  public  characters  Beecherized, 
alluding  to  the  broad  and  bold  presentment  of  them 
given  from  time  to  time  by  our  great  clerical  hu 
morist,  Henry  Ward  Beecher.  Very  efficacious, 
one  thinks,  must  have  been  this  scourge  which  the 
Greek  comic  muse  wielded  so  merrily,  but  so  un 
mercifully. 

Although  Aristophanes  is  very  severe  upon  in 
dividuals,  he  does  not,  I  think,  foster  any  class  en 
mities,  except,  perhaps,  against  the  sophists.  Al 
though  a  city  man,  he  treats  the  rustic  population 
with  great  tenderness,  and  the  glimpses  he  gives  us 
of  country  life  are  sweet  and  genial.  In  this,  he 
contrasts  with  the  French  playwrights  of  our  time, 
to  whom  city  life  is  everything,  and  the  province 
synonymous  with  all  that  is  dull  and  empty  of  in 
terest. 

How  can  I  dismiss  the  comedy  of  that  day  with 
out  one  word  concerning  its  immortal  tragedy,  — 
Socrates,  the  divine  man,  compared  and  compara 
ble  to  Christ,  chained  in  his  dungeon  and  con 
demned  to  die?  The  most  blameless  life  could 
not  save  that  sacred  head.  Its  illumination,  in 

156 


which  we  sit  here  to-day,  drew  to  it  the  shafts  of  Aristoph- 

superstition,  malice,  and  wickedness.     The  comic  anes 

poet  might  present  on  the  stage  such  pictures  of 

the  popular  deities  as  would  make  the  welkin  ring 

with  the  roar  of  laughter.     This  was  not  impiety. 

But  Socrates,  showing  no  disrespect  to  these  idols 

of  the  current  persuasion,  only  daring  to  discern 

beyond  them  God  in  his  divineness,  truth  in  her 

awful    beauty,  —  be   must   die    the    death    of   the 

profane. 

It  is  a  bitter  story,  surely,  but  "it  must  needs 
be  that  offences  come."  Where  should  we  be  to 
day  if  no  one  in  human  history  had  loved  high  doc 
trine  well  enough  to  die  for  it  ?  At  such  cost  were 
these  great  lessons  given  us.  How  can  we  thank 
God  or  man  enough  for  them  ? 

The  athletics  of  human  thought  are  the  true 
Olympian  games.  Human  error  is  wise  and  log 
ical  in  its  way.  It  confronts  its  antagonist  with 
terrific  weapons  ;  it  seizes  and  sways  him  with  a 
Titanic  will  force.  It  knows  where  to  attack,  and 
how.  It  knows  the  spirit  that  would  be  death  to 
it,  could  that  spirit  prevail.  It  closes  in  the  death 
grapple ;  the  arena  is  red  with  the  blood  of  its  vic 
tim,  but  from  that  blood  immortal  springs  a  new 
world,  a  new  society. 

One  word,  in  conclusion,  about  the  Greek  lan 
guage.  Valuable  as  translations  are,  they  can  never, 
to  the  student,  take  the  place  of  originals.  I  have 


Aristo-ph-  stumbled    through   these  works   with    the    lamest 
anes  knowledge  of  Greek,  and  with  no  one  to  help  me. 

I  have  quoted  from  admirable  renderings  of  them 
into  English.  Yet,  even  in  such  delicate  handling 
as  that  of  Frere,  the  racy  quality  of  the  Greek 
phrase  evaporates,  like  some  subtle  perfume  ;  while 
the  music  of  the  grand  rhythm,  which  the  ear  seems 
able  to  get  through  the  eye,  is  lost. 

The  Greek  tongue  belongs  to  the  history  of 
thought.  The  language  that  gives  us  such  distinc 
tions  as  nous  and  logos,  as  gy  and  kosmos,  has  been 
the  great  pedagogue  of  our  race,  has  laid  the  foun 
dations  of  modern  thought.  Let  us,  by  all  means, 
help  ourselves  with  Frere,  with  Jowett,  and  a  mul 
titude  of  other  literary  benefactors.  But  let  us 
all  get  a  little  Greek  on  our  own  account,  for  the 
sake  of  our  Socrates  and  of  our  Christ.  And  as 
the  great  but  intolerant  Agassiz  had  it  for  his 
motto  that  "  species  do  not  transmute,"  let  this 
school  have  among  its  mottoes  this  one:  "True 
learning  does  not  de-Hellenize." 


The  Halfness  of  Nature 


The    Halfness   of  Nature 

THE  great  office  of  ethics  and  aesthetics  is  the 
reconciliation  of  God  and  man  ;  that  is,  of  the 
divine  and  disinterested  part  of  human  nature  with 
its  selfish  and  animal  opposite. 

This  opposition  exists,  primarily,  in  the  individ 
ual  ;  secondarily,  in  the  society  formed  out  of  indi 
viduals.  Human  institutions  typify  the  two,  with 
their  mutual  influence  and  contradictions.  The 
church  represents  the  one ;  the  market,  the  other. 
The  battle-field  and  the  hospital,  the  school  and 
the  forum,  are  further  terms  of  the  same  antithesis. 
Nature  does  so  much  for  the  man,  and  the  material 
she  furnishes  is  so  indispensable  to  all  the  con 
structions  which  we  found  upon  it,  that  the  last 
thing  a  teacher  can  afford  to  do  is  to  undervalue 
her  gifts.  When  critical  agencies  go  so  far  as  to  do 
this,  revolution  is  imminent :  Nature  reasserts  her 
self. 

Equally  impotent  is  Nature  where  institutions 
do  not  supply  the  help  of  Art.  When  this  state  of 
things  perseveres,  she  dwindles  instead  of  growing. 
She  becomes  meagre,  not  grandiose.  Men  hunt, 
but  do  not  cultivate.  Women  drudge  and  bear  off 
spring,  but  neither  comfort  nor  inspire. 

161 


The  Let  us  examine  a  little  into  what  Nature  gives, 

Hal/ness    and  into  what  she  does  not  give.     In  the  domain  of 

of  Nature  thought  and  religion,  people  dispute  much  on  this 

head,  and    are   mostly   ranged   in    two   parties,  of 

which  one  claims  for  her  everything,  while  the  other 

allows  her  nothing. 

In  this  controversy,  we  can  begin  with  one  point 
beyond  dispute.  Nature  gives  the  man,  but  she 
certainly  does  not  give  the  clothes.  Having  re 
ceived  his  own  body,  he  has  to  go  far  and  work 
hard  in  order  to  cover  it. 

Nature  again  scarcely  gives  human  food.  Roots, 
berries,  wild  fruit,  and  raw  flesh  would  not  make  a 
very  luxurious  diet  for  the  king  of  creation.  Even 
this  last  staple  Nature  does  not  supply  gratis,  and 
the  art  of  killing  is  man's  earliest  discovery  in  the 
lesson  of  self-sustenance.  So  Death  becomes  the 
succursal  of  life.  The  sense  of  this  originates, 
first,  the  art  of  hunting;  secondly,  the  art  of  war. 

Nature  gives  the  religious  impulse,  originating 
in  the  further  pole  of  primal  thought.  The  alter 
nation  of  night  and  day  may  first  suggest  the  op 
position  of  things  seen  and  not  seen.  The  world 
exists  while  the  man  sleeps  —  exists  independently 
of  him.  Sleep  and  its  dreams  are  mysterious  to  the 
waking  man.  His  first  theology  is  borrowed  from 
this  conjunction  of  invisible  might  and  irrational 
intellection. 

But   Nature  does  not  afford  the  church.     Art 

162 


does    this,  laboring   long   and  finishing  never, —  The 
coming  to  a  platform  of  rest,  but  coming  at  the  Halfness 
same  time  to  a  higher  view,  inciting  to  higher  ef-  of  Nature 
fort.     Temple  after  temple  is  raised.     Juggernaut, 
Jove,  Jesus  !     India  does  not  get  beyond  Jugger 
naut.     Rome  could  not  get  beyond  Jove.     Chris 
tendom  is  far  behind  Jesus.     In  all  religions,  Art 
founds  on  Nature,  and  aspires  to  super-nature.     In 
all,  Art  asserts  the  superiority  of  thought  over  un- 
thought,  of  measure  over  excess,  of  conscience  over 
confidence.     The  latest  evangel    alone  supplies  a 
method    of  popularizing    thought,  of  beautifying 
measure,  of  harmonizing  conscience,  and  is,  there 
fore,  the  religion  that  uses  most  largely  from  the 
race,  and  returns  most  largely  to  it. 

Time  permits  me  only  a  partial  review  of  this 
great  system  of  gifts  and  deficiencies.  The  secret 
of  progress  seems  an  infinitesimal  seed,  dropped 
in  some  bosoms  to  bear  harvest  for  all.  Seed  and 
soil  together  give  the  product  which  is  called 
genius.  But  genius  is  only  half  of  the  great  man. 
No  one  works  so  hard  as  he  does  to  obtain  the 
result  corresponding  to  his  natural  dimensions  and 
obligations.  The  gift  and  the  capacity  to  employ 
it  are  simply  boons  of  Nature.  The  resolution  to 
do  so,  the  patience  and  perseverance,  the  long  tasks 
bravely  undertaken  and  painfully  carried  through 
—  these  come  of  the  individual  action  of  the  moral 
man,  and  constitute  his  moral  life.  The  wonder- 


The  fully  clever  people  we  all  know,  who  fill  the  society 

Halfness  toy-shop  with  what  is  needed  in  the  society  work- 
of  Nature  shop,  are  people  who  have  not  consummated  this 
resolution,  who  have  not  had  this  bravery,  this 
perseverance.  Death  does  not  waste  more  of  im 
mature  life  than  Indolence  wastes  of  immature 
genius.  The  law  of  labor  in  ethics  and  aesthetics 
corresponds  to  the  energetic  necessities  of  hygiene, 
and  is  the  most  precious  and  indispensable  gift  of 
one  generation  to  its  successors. 

In  ethics,  Nature  supplies  the  first  half,  but  Re 
ligion,  or  the  law  of  duty,  supplies  the  other. 
Nature  gives  the  enthusiasm  of  love,  but  not  the 
tender  and  persevering  culture  of  friendship,  which 
carries  the  light  of  that  tropical  summer  into  the 
winter  of  age,  the  icy  recesses  of  death. 

Art  has  no  need  to  intervene  in  order  to  bring 
together  those  whom  passion  inspires,  whom  in 
clination  couples.  But  in  crude  Nature,  passion 
itself  remains  selfish,  brutal,  and  short-lived. 

The  tender  and  grateful  recollection  of  transient 
raptures,  the  culture  and  growth  of  generous  sym 
pathies,  resulting  in  noble  co-operation  —  Art 
brings  these  out  of  Nature  by  the  second  birth, 
of  which  Christ  knew,  and  at  which  Nicodemus 
marvelled. 

Nature  gives  the  love  of  offspring.  Human 
parents  share  the  passionate  attachment  of  other 
animals  for  their  young.  With  the  regulation  of 

164 


this  attachment  Art  has  much  to  do.    You  love  the  The 
child  when  it  delights  you  by  day  ;  you  must  also  Halfness 
love  it  when  it  torments  you  at  night.     This  latter  of  Nature 
love  is  not  against  Nature,  but  Conscience  has  to 
apply  the  whip  and  spur  a  little,  or  the  mother  will 
take  such  amusement  as  the  child  can  afford,  and 
depute  to  others  the  fatigues  which  are  its  price. 

A  graver  omission  yet  Nature  makes.  She  does 
not  teach  children  to  reverence  and  cherish  their 
parents  when  the  relation  between  them  reverses 
itself  in  the  progress  of  time,  and  those  who  once 
had  all  to  give  have  all  to  ask.  Moses  was  not 
obliged  to  say :  "  Parents,  love  your  children." 
But  he  was  obliged  to  say  :  "  Honor  thy  father  and 
thy  mother,"  in  all  the  thunder  of  the  Decalogue. 
The  gentler  and  finer  spirits  value  the  old  for  their 
useful  council  and  inestimable  experience. 

You  know  to-day  ;  but  your  father  can  show  you 
yesterday,  bright  with  living  traditions  which  his 
tory  neglects  and  which  posterity  loses.  We  do 
not  profit  as  we  might  by  this  source  of  knowledge. 
Elders  question  the  young  for  their  instruction. 
Young  people,  in  turn,  should  question  elders  on 
their  own  account,  not  allowing  the  personal  values 
of  experience  to  go  down  to  the  grave  unrealized. 
But  Youth  is  cruel  and  remorseless.  The  young, 
in  their  fulness  of  energy,  in  their  desire  for  scope 
and  freedom,  are  often  in  unseemly  haste  to  see  the 
old  depart. 


Here  Religion  comes  in  with  strong  hands  to 
Hal/ness    moderate  the  tyrannous  impulse,  the  controversy 
of  Nature  of  the  green  with  the  ripe  fruit.      All   religions 
agree  in  this  intervention.     The  worship  of  ances 
tors  in  the  Confucian  ethics  shows  this  conscious 
ness  and  intention.     The  aristocratic  traditions  of 
rank  and  race  are  an  invention  to  the  same  end.  I 
Vanity,  too,  will  often  lead  a  man  to  glorify  him 
self  in    the    past    and    future,   as   well    as    in    the 
present. 

Still,  the  instinct  to  get  rid  of  elders  is  a  feature 
in  unreclaimed  nature.  It  shows  the  point  at  which 
the  imperative  suggestions  of  personal  feeling  stop, 
—  the  spot  where  Nature  leaves  a  desert  in  order 
that  Art  may  plant  a  garden.  "  Why  don't  you 
give  me  a  carriage,  now  ?  "  said  an  elderly  wife  to 
an  elderly  husband.  "  When  we  married,  you  would 
scarcely  let  me  touch  the  ground  with  my  feet.  I 
need  a  conveyance  now  far  more  than  I  did  then." 
"  That  was  the  period  of  my  young  enthusiasm," 
replied  the  husband.  The  statement  is  one  of  un 
usual  candor,  but  the  fact  is  one  of  not  unusual 
occurrence. 

I  think  that  in  the  present  study  I  have  come 
upon  the  true  and  simple  sense  of  the  parable  of 
the  talents.  Of  every  human  good,  the  initial  half 
is  bestowed  by  Nature.  But  the  value  of  this  half 
is  not  realized  until  Labor  shall  have  acquired  the 
other  half.  Talents  are  one  thing:  the  use  of  them 
166 


is  another.      The  first  depend   on  natural  condi-  The 
tions  ;  the  second,  on  moral  processes.     The  great-  Halfness 
est  native  facilities  are  useless  to  mankind  without  of  Nature 
the  discipline  of  Art.     So  in  an  undisciplined  life, 
the  good  that  is  born  with  a  man  dwindles  and  de 
cays.     The  sketch  of  childhood,  never  filled  out, 
fades  in  the  objectless  vacancy  of  manhood ;  and 
from  the  man  is  "  taken  away  even  that  which  he 
seemeth  to   have."     Not  judicial  vengeance   this, 
but  inevitable  consequence. 

Education  should  clearly  formulate  this  prob 
lem  :  Given  half  of  a  man  or  woman,  to  make  a 
whole  one.  This,  I  need  not  say,  is  to  be  done 
by  development,  not  by  addition.  Kant  says  that 
knowledge  grows  per  intus  susceptionem,  and  not  per 
appositionem.  The  knowledges  that  you  adjoin  to 
memory  do  not  fill  out  the  man  unless  you  reach, 
in  his  own  mind,  the  faculty  that  generates  thought. 
A  single  reason  perceived  by  him  either  in  numbers 
or  in  speech  will  outweigh  in  importance  all  the 
rules  which  memory  can  be  taught  to  supply. 
With  little  skill  and  much  perseverance,  Education 
hammers  upon  the  man  until  somewhere  she  strikes 
a  nerve,  and  the  awakened  interest  leads  him  to 
think  out  something  for  himself.  Otherwise,  she 
leaves  the  man  a  polite  muddle,  who  makes  his  best 
haste  to  forget  facts  in  forms,  and  who  cancels  the 
enforced  production  of  his  years  of  pedagogy  by  a 
lifelong  non-production. 

167 


The  What  Nature  is  able  to  give,  she  does  give  with 

Halfness  a  wealth  and  persistence  almost  pathetic.  The  good 
of  Nature  gifts  afloat  in  the  world  which  never  take  form  un 
der  the  appropriate  influence,  the  good  material 
which  does  not  build  itself  into  the  structures  of 
society,  —  you  and  I  grieve  over  these  sometimes. 
And  here  I  come  upon  a  doctrine  which  Fourier,  I 
think,  does  not  state  correctly.  He  maintains  that 
inclinations  which  appear  vicious  and  destructive 
in  society  as  at  present  constituted  would  become 
highly  useful  in  his  ideal  society.  I  should  prefer 
to  state  the  matter  thus :  The  given  talent,  not 
receiving  its  appropriate  education,  becomes  a  neg 
ative  instead  of  a  positive,  an  evil  instead  of  a  good. 
Here  we  might  paraphrase  the  Scripture  saying, 
and  affirm  that  the  stone  which  is  not  built  into  the 
corner  becomes  a  stumbling-block  for  the  wayfarer 
to  fall  over.  So  great  mischief  lies  in  those  uned 
ucated,  unconsecrated  talents  !  This  cordial  com 
panion  becomes  a  sot.  This  could-be  knight  re 
mains  a  prize-fighter.  This  incipient  mathema 
tician  does  not  get  beyond  cards  or  billiards.  This 
clever  mechanic  picks  locks  and  robs  a  bank,  in 
stead  of  endowing  one. 

Modern  theories  of  education  do  certainly  point 
toward  the  study,  by  the  party  educating,  of  the 
party  appointed  to  undergo  education.  But  this 
education  of  others  is  a  very  complex  matter,  not 
to  be  accomplished  unless  the  educator  educates 
168 


himself  in  the  light  afforded  him  by  his  pupils.  The 
The  boys  or  girls  committed  to  you  may  study  Halfness 
what  you  will :  be  sure,  first  of  all,  that  you  study  of  Nature 
them  to  your  best  ability.  Education  in  this  re 
spect  is  forced  to  a  continual  rectification  of  her 
processes.  The  greatest  power  and  resource  are 
needed  to  awaken  and  direct  the  energies  of  the 
young.  No  speech  in  Congress  is  so  important  as 
are  the  lessons  in  the  primary  school  ;  no  pulpit 
has  so  great  a  field  of  labor  as  the  Sunday  school. 
The  Turkish  government  showed  a  cruel  wisdom 
of  instinct  when  it  levied  upon  Greece  the  tribute 
of  Christian  children  to  form  its  corps  of  Janis 
saries.  It  recognized  alike  the  Greek  superiority 
of  race,  and  the  invaluable  opportunity  of  training 
afforded  by  childhood. 

The  work,  then,  of  education  demands  an  inves 
tigation  of  the  elements  which  Nature  has  granted 
to  the  individual,  with  the  view  of  matching  that 
in  which  he  is  wanting  with  that  which  he  has. 
I  have  heard  of  lovers  who,  in  plighting  their  faith, 
broke  a  coin  in  halves,  whose  matching  could  only 
take  place  with  their  meeting.  In  true  education 
as  in  the  love,  these  halves  should  correspond. 

"  What  hast  thou  ?  "  is,  then,  the  first  question 
of  the  educator.  His  second  is,  "What  hast  thou 
not  ?  "  The  third  is,  "  How  can  I  help  thee  to 
this  last  ? " 

To  my  view,  the  man   remains   incomplete  his 

169 


The  whole  life  long.     Most  incomplete  is  he,  however, 

Halfness  in  the  isolations  of  selfishness  and  of  solitude.  Study 
of  Nature  is  not  necessarily  solitude,  but  ideal  society  in  the 
highest  grade  in  which  human  beings  can  enjoy  it. 
It  is,  nevertheless,  dangerous  to  suffer  the  ideal  to 
distance  the  real  too  largely.  Desk-dreamers  end 
by  being  mental  cripples.  Divorce  of  this  sort  is 
not  wholesome,  nor  holy.  Life  is  a  perpetual  mar 
riage  of  real  and  ideal,  of  endeavor  and  result.  The 
solitary  departure  of  physical  death  is  hateful,  as 
putting  asunder  what  God  has  joined  together. 

Must  I  go  hence  as  lonely  as  I  was  born  ?  My 
mother  brought  me  into  the  infinite  society :  I 
go  into  the  absolute  dissociation.  I  go  many  steps 
further  back  than  I  came,  —  to  the  ur  mother, 
the  common  matrix  which  bears  plants,  animals, 
and  human  creatures.  Where,  oh  where,  shall  I  find 
that  infinite  companionship  which  my  life  should 
have  earned  for  me  ?  My  friendship  has  been 
hundred-handed.  My  love  has  consumed  the 
cities  of  the  plain,  and  built  the  heavenly  Jerusalem. 
And  I  go,  without  lover  or  friend,  in  a  box,  into 
an  earth  vault,  from  which  I  cannot  even  turn  into 
violets  and  primroses  in  any  recognizable  and  con 
scious  way. 

The  completeness  of  our  severance  or  deficiency 

may  be,  after  all,  the  determining  circumstance  of 

our  achievement.     What  I  would  have  is  cut  so 

clean  off  from  what  I  have  as  to  leave  no  sense  of 

170  . 


wholeness  in  my  continuing  as  I  am.  Something  The 
of  mine  is  mislaid  or  lost.  It  is  more  mine  than  Halfness 
anything  that  I  have,  but  where  to  find  it  ?  Who  of  Nature 
has  it  ?  I  reach  for  it  under  this  bundle  and  under 
that.  After  my  life's  trial,  I  find  that  I  have  pur 
sued,  but  not  possessed  it.  What  I  have  gained  of 
it  in  the  pursuit,  others  must  realize.  I  bequeath, 
and  cannot  take  it  with  me.  Did  Dante  regard  the 
parchments  of  his  "  Divina  Commedia  "  with  a  sigh, 
foreseeing  the  long  future  of  commentators  and 
booksellers,  he  himself  absolving  them  beforehand 
by  the  quitclaim  of  death  ?  You  and  I  may  also 
grieve  to  part  from  certain  unsold  volumes,  from 
certain  manuscripts  of  doubtful  fate  and  eventuality. 
Oh  !  out  of  this  pang  of  death  has  come  the  scheme 
and  achievement  of  immortality.  "  Non  omnis  mo- 
riar."  "  I  am  the  resurrection  and  the  life.'*  "  It 
is  sown  a  natural  body ;  it  is  raised  a  spiritual 
body." 

This  tremendous  leap  and  feat  of  the  human  soul 
across  the  bridge  of  dark  negativity  would  never 
have  been  made  without  the  sharp  spur  and  bitter 
pang  of  death.  "  My  life  food  for  worms  ?  No  ; 
never.  I  will  build  and  bestow  it  in  arts  and  char 
ities,  spin  it  in  roads  and  replicate  it  in  systems  ; 
but  to  be  lopped  from  the  great  body  of  humanity, 
and  decay  like  a  black,  amputated  limb  ?  My  man 
hood  refuses.  The  infinite  hope  within  me  gener 
ates  another  life,  realizable  in  every  moment  of  my 

171 


The  natural  existence,  whose  moments  are  not  in  time, 

Half  ness    whose  perfect  joys  are  not  measured  by  variable 
of  Nature  duration.     Thus  every  day  can  be  to  me  full  of  im 
mortality,  and  the  matter  of  my  corporeal  decease 
full  of  indifference,  as  sure  to  be  unconscious.'* 

I  think  this  attainment  the  first,  fundamental  to 
all  the  others.  We  console  the  child  with  a  simple 
word  about  heaven.  He  is  satisfied,  and  feels  its 
truth.  How  to  attain  this  deathlessness  is  the  next 
problem  whose  solution  he  will  ask  of  us.  We 
point  him  to  the  plane  on  which  he  will  roll  ;  for 
our  life  is  a  series  of  revolutions, —  no  straight 
forward  sledding,  but  an  acceleration  by  ideal  weight 
and  propulsion,  through  which  our  line  becomes  a 
circle,  and  our  circle  itself  a  living  wheel  of  action, 
creating  out  of  its  mobile  necessity  a  past  and  a 
future. 

The  halfness  of  the  individual  is  literally  shown 
in  the  division  of  sex.  The  Platonic  fancy  runs 
into  an  anterior  process,  by  which  what  was  orig 
inally  one  has  been  made  two.  We  will  say  that 
the  two  halves  were  never  historically,  though  al 
ways  ideally,  one.  Here  Art  comes  to  the  assist 
ance,  of  Nature.  The  mere  contrast  of  sex  does 
not  lift  society  out  of  what  is  animal  and  slavish. 
The  integrity  of  sex  relation  is  not  to  be  found 
in  a  succession  or  simultaneity  of  mates,  easily 
taken  and  as  easily  discarded.  This  great  value  of 
a  perfected  life  is  to  be  had  only  through  an  abid- 
172 


ing  and  complete  investment,  —  the  relations  of  The 
sex  lifted  up  to  the  communion  of  the  divine,  uni-  Halfness 
fied  by  the  good  faith  of  a  lifetime,  enriched  by  a  of  Nature 
true  sharing  of  all  experience.  This  august  part 
nership  is  Marriage,  one  of  the  most  difficult  and 
delicate  achievements  of  society.  Too  sadly  does 
its  mockery  afflict  us  in  these  and  other  days. 
Either  party,  striving  to  dwarf  the  other,  dwarfs 
itself.  This  mystic  selfhood,  inexpressible  in  lit 
eral  phrases,  is  at  once  the  supreme  of  Nature  and 
the  sublime  of  institutions.  The  ideal  human 
being  is  man  and  woman  united  on  the  ideal  plane. 
The  church  long  presented  and  represented  this 
plane.  The  state  is  hereafter  to  second  and  carry  out 
its  suggestions.  The  ideal  assembly,  which  we  figure 
by  the  communion  of  the  saints,  is  a  coming  to 
gether  of  men  and  women  in  the  highest  aims  and 
views  to  which  Humanity  can  be  a  party. 

Passing  from  immediate  to  projected  conscious 
ness,  I  can  imagine  expression  itself  to  spring  from 
want.  The  sense  of  the  incompleteness  of  life  in 
itself  and  in  each  of  its  acts  calls  for  this  effort  to 
show,  at  least,  what  life  should  be,  —  to  vindicate 
the  shortcoming  of  action  out  of  the  fulness  of 
speech.  This  that  eats  and  sleeps  is  so  little  of 
the  man  !  These  processes  are  so  little  what  he 
understands  by  life !  Listen ;  let  him  tell  you 
what  life  means  to  him. 

And  so  sound  is  differentiated  into   speech,  and 

173 


The  hammered  into  grammar,  and  built  up  into  litera- 

Halfness    ture  —  all  of  whose  creations  are  acoustic  palaces 

of  Nature  of  imagination.     For  the  eye  in  reading  is  only  the 

secondary  sense :    the  written   images   the  spoken 

word. 

How  the  rhythm  of  the  blood  comes  to  be  em 
bodied  in  verse  is  more  difficult  to  trace.  But  the 
justification  of  Poetry  is  obvious.  When  you  have 
told  the  thing  in  prose,  you  have  /nade  it  false  by 
making  it  literal.  Poesy  lies  a  little  to  complete 
the  truth  which  Honesty  lacks  skill  to  embody. 
Her  artifices  are  subtle  and  wonderful.  You  glance 

O 

sideways  at  the  image,  and  you  see  it.  You  look 
it  full  in  the  face,  and  it  disappears. 

The  plastic  arts,  too.  This  beautiful  face  com 
mands  me  to  paint  from  it  a  picture  twice  as  beau 
tiful.  Its  charm  of  Nature  I  cannot  attain.  My 
painting  must  not  try  for  the  edge  of  its  flesh  and 
blood  forms,  the  evanescence  of  its  color,  the  light 
and  shadow  of  its  play  of  feature.  But  something 
which  the  beautiful  face  could  not  know  of  itself 
the  artist  knows  of  it.  That  deep  interpretation 
of  its  ideal  significance  marks  the  true  master,  who 
is  never  a  Chinese  copyist.  Some  of  the  portraits 
that  look  down  upon  you  from  the  walls  of  Rome 
and  of  Florence  calmly  explain  to  you  a  whole  eter 
nity.  Their  eyes  seem  to  have  seized  it  all,  and  to 
hold  it  beyond  decay.  This  is  what  Art  gives  in 
the  picture,  —  not  simply  what  appears  and  dis- 

'74 


appears,  but  that  which,  being  interpreted,  abides  The 
with  us.  Halfness 

Who  shall  say  by  what  responsive  depths  the  of  Nature 
heights  of  architecture  measure  themselves  ?  The 
uplifted  arches  mirror  the  introspective  soul.  So 
profoundly  did  I  think,  and  plot,  and  contrive  ! 
So  loftily  must  my  stone  climax  balance  my  cogi 
tations  !  To  such  an  amount  of  prayer  allow  so 
many  aisles  and  altars.  The  pillars  of  cloisters 
image  the  brotherhood  who  walked  in  the  narrow 
passages  ;  straight,  slender,  paired  in  steadfastness 
and  beauty,  there  they  stand,  fair  records  of  amity. 
Columns  of  retrospect,  let  us  hope  that  the  souls 
they  image  did  not  look  back  with  longing  upon 
the  scenes  which  they  were  called  upon  to  forsake. 

Critical  belief  asks  roomy  enclosures  and  win 
dows  unmasked  by  artificial  impediments.  It  comes 
also  to  desire  limits  within  which  the  voice  of  the 
speaker  can  reach  all  present.  Men  must  look 
each  other  in  the  face,  and  construct  prayer  or 
sermon  with  the  human  alphabet.  We  are  glad 
to  see  the  noble  structures  of  older  times  main 
tained  and  renewed ;  but  we  regret  to  see  them 
imitated  in  our  later  day.  (St.  Peter's  is,  in  all 
save  dimension,  a  church  of  Protestant  architecture 
—  so  is  St.  Paul's,  of  London.)  The  present  has 
its  own  trials  and  agonies,  its  martyrdoms  and  de 
liverances.  With  it,  the  old  litanies  must  sink  to 
sleep  ;  the  more  Christian  of  to-day  efface  the  most 

175 


Ike  Christian  of  yesterday.     The  very  attitude  of  saint- 

llalfness    ship  is  changed.     The  practical  piety  of  our  time 

of  Nature  looks  neither  up  nor  down,  but  straight  before  it, 

at  the  men  and  women  to  be  relieved,  at  the  work 

to  be  done.     Religion  to-day  is  not  "  height  nor 

depth  nor  any  other  creature,"  but  God  with  us. 

There  is  a  mystic  birth  and  Providence  in  the 
succession  of  the  Arts  ;  yet  are  they  designed  to 
dwell  together,  each  needing  the  aid  of  all.  Peo 
ple  often  speak  of  sculpture  as  of  an  art  purely 
and  distinctively  Grecian.  But  the  Greeks  pos 
sessed  all  the  Arts,  and  more,  too,  —  the  substra 
tum  of  democracy  and  the  sublime  of  philosophy. 
No  natural  jealousy  prevails  in  this  happy  house 
hold.  The  Arts  are  not  wives,  of  whom  one  must 
die  before  another  has  proper  place.  They  are  sis 
ters,  whose  close  communion  heightens  the  charm 
of  all  by  the  excellence  of  each.  The  Christian 
unanimity  is  as  favorable  to  Art  as  to  human 
society. 

We  may  say  that  the  Greeks  attained  a  great 
perfection  in  sculpture,  and  have  continued  in  this 
art  to  offer  the  models  of  the  world. 

When  the  great  period  of  Italian  art  attained  its 
full  splendor,  it  seemed  as  if  the  frozen  crystals  of 
Greek  sculpture  had  melted  before  the  fire  of 
Christian  inspiration.  But  this  transformation, 
like  the  transfiguration  of  Hindoo  deities,  did  not 
destroy  the  anterior  in  its  issue. 

176 


The  soul  of  sculpture  ripened  into  painting,  but  The 
Sculpture,  the  beautiful  mother,  still  lived  and  Ha/fness 
smiled  upon  her  glowing  daughter.  See  Michael  of  Nature 
Angelo  studying  the  torso  !  See  the  silent  gal 
leries  of  the  Vatican,  where  Form  holds  you  in  one 
room,  Color  presently  detaining  you  in  another  ! 
And  what  are  our  Raphaels,  Angelos,  making  to 
day  ?  Be  sure  they  are  in  the  world,  for  the  divine 
spirit  of  Art  never  leaves  itself  without  a  witness. 
But  what  is  their  noble  task  ?  They  are  moulding 
character,  embodying  the  divine  in  human  culture 
and  in  human  institutions.  The  Greek  sculptures 
indicate  and  continue  a  fitting  reverence  for  the 
dignity  and  beauty  of  the  human  form ;  but  the 
reverence  for  the  human  soul  which  fills  the  world 
to-day  is  a  holier  and  happier  basis  of  Art.  From 
it  must  come  records  in  comparison  with  which 
obelisk  and  pyramid,  triumphal  arch  and  ghostly 
cathedral,  shall  seem  the  toys  and  school  appliances 
of  the  childhood  of  the  race. 

To  return  to  our  original  problem,  —  how  shall 
we  attain  the  proper  human  stature,  how  add  the 
wanting  half  to  the  half  which  is  given  ? 

I  answer :  By  labor  and  by  faith,  in  which  there 
is  nothing  accidental  or  arbitrary.  The  very  world 
in  which  we  live  is  but  a  form,  whose  spirit,  breath 
ing  through  Nature  and  Experience,  slowly  creates 
its  own  interpretation,  adding  a  new  testament  to 
an  old  testament,  lifting  the  veil  between  Truth 

177 


The  and  Mercy,  clasping  the  mailed  hand  of  Righteous- 

Halfness    ness  in  the  velvet  glove  of  Peace. 

of  Nature  The  spirit  of  Religion  is  the  immanence  of  the 
divine  in  the  human,  the  image  of  the  eternal  in 
the  transitory,  of  things  infinite  in  things  limited. 
I  have  heard  endless  discussions  and  vexed  state 
ments  of  how  the  world  came  out  of  chaos.  From 
the  Mosaic  version  to  the  last  rationalistic  theory, 
I  have  been  willing  to  give  ear  to  these.  It  is 
a  subject  upon  which  human  ingenuity  may  exer 
cise  itself  in  its  allowable  leisure.  One  thing  con 
cerns  all  of  us  much  more  ;  viz.,  how  to  get  heaven 
out  of  earth,  good  out  of  evil,  instruction  out  of 
opportunity. 

This  is  our  true  life  work.  When  we  have  done 
all  in  this  that  life  allows  us,  we  have  not  done 
more  than  half,  the  other  half  lying  beyond  the 
pale  struggle  and  the  silent  rest.  Oh  !  when  we 
shall  reach  that  bound,  whatever  may  be  wanting, 
let  not  courage  and  hope  forsake  us. 


Dante  and  Beatrice 


Dante  and  Beatrice 

DANTE  and  Beatrice  —  names  linked  together 
by  holy  affection  and  high  art.  Ary  Scheffer  has 
shown  them  to  us  as  in  a  beatific  vision,  —  the  stern 
spirit  which  did  not  fear  to  confront  the  horrors  of 
Hell  held  in  a  silken  leash  of  meekness  by  the 
gracious  one  through  whose  intervention  he  passed 
unscathed  through  fire  and  torment,  bequeathing 
to  posterity  a  record  unique  in  the  annals  alike  of 
literature  and  of  humanity. 

My  first  studies  of  the  great  poet  are  in  the 
time  long  past,  antedating  even  that  middle  term 
of  life  which  was  for  him  the  starting-point  of  a 
new  inspiration.  Yet  it  seems  to  me  that  no  part 
of  my  life,  since  that  reading,  has  been  without 
some  echo  of  the  "  Divine  Comedy  "  in  my  mind. 
In  the  walk  through  Hell,  I  strangely  believe.  Its 
warnings  still  admonish  me.  I  see  the  boat  of 
Charon,  with  its  mournful  freight.  I  pass  before 
the  judgment  seat  of  Midas.  I  see  the  souls  tor 
mented  in  hopeless  flame.  I  feel  the  weight  of  the 
leaden  cloaks.  I  shrink  from  the  jar  of  the  flying 
rocks,  hurled  as  weapons.  For  me,  dark  Ugolino 
still  feeds  upon  his  enemy.  Francesca  still  mates 
with  her  sad  lover. 

181 


Dante          From    this    hopeless    abyss,    I    emerge    to    the 
and         kindlier  pain  of  Purgatory,  whose  end  is  almost 
Beatrice  Heaven.     And  of  that  blessed  realm,  my  soul  still 
holds  remembrance  —  of  its  solemn  joy,  of  its  un 
folding  revelation.      The  vision    of  that    mighty 
cross  in  which  all  the  stars  of  the  highest  heaven 
range  themselves  is  before  me,  on  each  fair  cluster 
the  word  "  Cristo  "  outshining  all  besides. 

Among  my  dearest  recollections  is  that  of  an 
Easter  sermon  devised  by  me  for  an  ignorant  black 
congregation  in  a  far-off  West  Indian  isle,  in  which 
I  told  of  this  vision  of  the  cross,  and  tried  to  make 
it  present  to  them.  But  this  grateful  remembrance 
which  I  have  carried  through  so  many  years  does 
not  regard  the  poet  alone.  In  the  world's  great 
goods,  as  in  its  great  evils,  a  woman  has  her  part. 
And  this  poem,  which  has  been  such  a  boon  to 
humanity,  has  for  its  central  inspiration  the  mem 
ory  of  a  woman. 

In  the  prologue,  already  we  hear  of  her.  It  is 
she  who  sends  her  poet  his  poet-guide.  When  he 
shrinks  from  the  painful  progress  which  lies  be 
fore  him,  and  deems  the  companionship  even  of 
Virgil  an  insufficient  pledge  of  safety,  the  words 
of  his  lady,  repeated  to  him  by  his  guide,  restore 
his  sinking  courage,  and  give  him  strength  for  his 
immortal  journey. 

Here  are  those  words   of  Beatrice,  spoken    to 
Virgil,  and  by  him  brought  to  Dante :  — 
182 


0  courteous  shade  of  Mantua  !   thou  whose  fame  T)ante 
Yet  lives  and  shall  live  long  as  Nature  lasts  !                           and 

A  friend,  not  of  my  fortune,  but  myself,  D     f   • 

On  the  wide  desert  in  his  road  has  met 
Hindrance  so  great  that  he  through  fear  has  turned. 
Assist  him:  so  to  me  will  comfort  spring. 

1  who  now  bid  thee  on  this  errand  forth 
Am  Beatrice. 

Who  and  what  was  Beatrice,  whose  message  gave 
Dante  strength  to  explore  the  fearful  depths  of 
evil  and  its  punishment  ?  This  we  may  learn 
elsewhere. 

Dante,  passionate  poet  in  his  youth,  has  left  to 
posterity  a  work  unique  of  its  sort,  —  the  romance 
of  a  childish  love  which  grew  with  the  growth  of 
the  lover.  In  his  adolescence,  its  intensity  at 
times  overpowers  his  bodily  senses.  The  years 
that  built  up  his  towering  manhood  built  up  along 
with  it  this  ideal  womanhood,  which,  whether  real 
ized  or  realizable,  or  neither,  was  the  highest  and 
holiest  essence  which  his  imagination  could  infuse 
into  a  human  form.  The  sweet  shyness  of  that 
first  peep  at  the  Beautiful,  of  that  first  thrill  of  the 
master  chord  of  being,  is  rendered  immortal  for 
us  by  the  candor  of  this  great  master.  We  can  see 
the  shamefaced  boy,  taken  captive  by  the  dazzling 
vision  of  Beatrice,  veiling  the  features  of  his  un 
reasonable  passion,  and  retiring  to  his  own  closet, 
there  to  hide  his  joy  at  having  found  on  earth  a 
thing  so  beautiful. 

183 


Dante  Dante's  love  for  Beatrice  dates  from  the  com- 
and  pletion  of  his  own  ninth  year,  and  the  beginning 
Beatrice  of  hers.  He  first  sees  her  at  a  May  party,  at  the 
house  of  her  father,  Folco  Polinari.  Her  apparel, 
he  says,  "  was  of  a  most  noble  tincture,  a  subdued 
and  becoming  crimson ;  and  she  wore  a  girdle  and 
ornaments  becoming  her  childish  years."  At  the 
sight  of  her,  his  heart  began  to  beat  with  painful 
violence.  A  master  thought  had  taken  possession 
of  him,  and  that  master's  name  was  well  known  to 
him,  as  how  should  it  not  have  been  in  that  day 
when,  if  ever  in  this  world,  Love  was  crowned  lord 
of  all  ?  Urged  by  this  tyrant,  from  time  to  time, 
to  go  in  search  of  Beatrice,  he  beheld  in  her,  he 
says,  a  demeanor  so  praiseworthy  and  so  noble  as 
to  remind  him  of  a  line  of  Homer,  regarding 
Helen  of  Troy  :  — 

"From  heaven  she  had  her  birth,  and  not  from  mortal  clay.'* 

These  glimpses  of  her  must  have  been  transient 
ones,  for  the  poet  tells  us  that  his  second  meeting, 
face  to  face,  with  Beatrice  occurred  nine  years  after 
their  first  encounter.  Her  childish  charm  had  now 
ripened  into  maidenly  loveliness.  He  beholds  her 
arrayed  in  purest  white,  walking  between  two  noble 
ladies  older  than  herself.  "As  she  passed  along 
the  street,  she  turned  her  eyes  toward  the  spot 
where  I,  thrilled  through  and  through  with  awe, 
was  standing ;  and  in  her  ineffable  courtesy,  which 

184 


now  hath  its  guerdon  in  everlasting  life,  she  saluted  Dante 
me   in   such   gracious  wise  that  I  seemed  in  that  and 
moment  to  behold  the  utmost  bounds  of  bliss."       Beatrice 

He  now  begins  to  dream  of  her  in  his  sleeping 
moments,  and  to  rhyme  of  her  in  his  waking  hours. 
In  his  first  vision,  Love  appears  with  Beatrice  in 
his  arms.  In  one  hand  he  holds  Dante's  flaming 
heart,  upon  which  he  constrains  her  to  feed  ;  after 
which,  weeping,  he  gathers  up  his  fair  burthen  and 
ascends  with  her  to  Heaven.  This  dream  seemed 
to  Dante  fit  to  be  communicated  to  the  many 
famous  poets  of  the  time.  He  embodies  it  in  a 
sonnet,  which  opens  thus  :  — 

To  every  captive  soul  and  gentle  heart 

Into  whose  sight  shall  come  this  song  of  mine, 

That  they  to  me  its  matter  may  divine, 

Be  greeting  in  Love's  name,  our  master's,  sent. 

And  now  begins  for  him  a  season  of  love-lorn 
pining  and  heart-sickness.  The  intensity  of  the 
attraction  paralyzes  in  him  the  power  of  approach 
ing  its  object.  His  friends  notice  his  altered  looks, 
and  ask  the  cause  of  this  great  change  in  him.  He 
confesses  that  it  is  the  master  passion,  but  so  mis 
leads  them  as  to  the  person  beloved,  as  to  bring 
upon  another  a  scandal  by  his  feigning.  For  this 
he  is  punished  by  the  displeasure  of  Beatrice,  who, 
passing  him  in  the  street,  refuses  him  that  saluta 
tion  the  very  hope  of  which,  he  says,  kindled  such 


Dante  a  flame  of  charity  within  him  as  to  make  him  for- 
and  get  and  forgive  every  offence  and  injury. 
Beatrice  Love  now  visits  him  in  his  sleep,  in  the  guise  of 
a  youth  arrayed  in  garments  of  exceeding  white 
ness,  and  desires  him  to  indite  certain  words  in 
rhyme,  which,  though  not  openly  addressed  to 
Beatrice,  shall  yet  assure  her  of  what  she  partly 
knows,  —  that  the  poet's  heart  has  been  hers  from 
boyhood.  The  ballad  which  he  composes  in  obedi 
ence  to  his  love's  command  is  not  a  very  literal 
rendering  of  his  story. 

He  now  begins  to  have  many  conflicting  thoughts 
about  Love,  two  of  which  constitute  a  very  respect 
able  antinomy.  One  of  these  tells  him  that  the 
empire  of  Love  is  good,  because  it  turns  the  in 
clinations  of  its  vassal  from  all  that  is  base.  The 
opposite  thought  is  :  "  The  empire  of  Love  is  not 
good,  since  the  more  absolute  the  allegiance  of  his 
vassal,  the  more  severe  and  woful  are  the  straits 
through  which  he  must  perforce  pass." 

These  conflicting  thoughts  sought  expression  in 
a  sonnet,  of  which  I  will  quote  a  part :  — 

Of  Love,  Love  only,  speaks  my  every  thought ; 

And  all  so  various  they  be  that  one 

Bids  me  bow  down  to  his  dominion, 

Another  counsels  me  his  power  is  naught. 

One,  flushed  with  hopes,  is  all  with  sweetness  fraught ; 

Another  makes  full  oft  my  tears  to  run. 

186 


Where,  then,  to  turn,  what  think,  I  cannot  tell.  Dante 

Fain  would  I  speak,  yet  know  not  what  to  say.  anj 

While  these  uncertainties  still  possess  him,Dante      ea  rt 
is  persuaded  by  a  friend  to  attend  a  bridal  festivity, 
where  it  is  hoped  that  the  sight  of  much  beauty 
may  give  him  great  pleasure. 

"  Why  have  you  brought  me  among  these 
ladies?"  he  asks.  "In  order  that  they  may  be 
properly  attended,"  is  the  answer. 

Small  attendance  can  Dante  give  upon  these 
noble  beauties.  A  fatal  tremor  seizes  him ;  he 
looks  up  and,  beholding  Beatrice,  can  see  nothing 
else.  Nay,  even  of  her  his  vision  is  marred  by 
the  intensity  of  his  feeling.  The  ladies  first  won 
der  at  his  agitation,  and  then  make  merry  over  it, 
Beatrice  apparently  joining  in  their  merriment. 
His  friend,  chagrined  at  his  embarrassment,  now 
asks  the  cause  of  it ;  to  which  question  Dante  re 
plies  :  "  I  have  set  my  foot  in  that  part  of  life  to 
pass  beyond  which,  with  purpose  to  return,  is 
impossible." 

With  these  words  the  poet  departs,  and  in  his 
chamber  of  tears  persuades  himself  that  Beatrice 
would  not  have  joined  in  the  laughter  of  her  friends 
if  she  had  really  known  his  state  of  mind.  Then 
follows,  naturally,  a  sonnet :  — 

With  other  ladies  thou  dost  flaunt  at  me, 

Nor  thinkest,  lady,  whence  doth  come  the  change, 

187 


])ante  What  fills  mine  aspect  with  a  trouble  strange 

»  When  I  the  wonder  of  thy  beauty  see. 

*          .  If  thou  didst  know,  thou  must,  for  charity, 

Beatrice  Forswear  the  wonted  rigor  of  thine  eye. 

With  this  poetic  utterance  comes  the  plain  prose 
question  :  "  Seeing  thou  dost  present  an  aspect  so 
ridiculous  whenever  thou  art  near  this  lady,  where 
fore  dost  thou  seek  to  come  into  her  presence  ? " 

It  takes  two  sonnets  to  answer  this  question. 
He  is  not  the  only  person  who  asks  it.  Meeting 
with  some  merry  dames,  he  is  thus  questioned  by 
her  of  them  who  seems  "  most  gay  and  pleasant  of 
discourse : "  "  Unto  what  end  lovest  thou  this 
lady,  seeing  that  her  near  presence  overwhelms 
thee  ? "  In  reply,  he  professes  himself  happy  in 
having  words  wherewith  to  speak  the  praises  of  his 
lady,  and  going  thence,  determines  in  his  heart  to 
devote  his  powers  of  expression  to  that  high  theme. 
He  leaves  the  cramping  sonnet  now,  and  expands 
his  thought  in  the  canzone^  of  which  I  need  only 
repeat  the  first  line  :  — - 

Ladies  who  have  the  intellect  of  Love. 

Why  the  course  of  this  true  love  never  did  run 
smooth,  we  know  not.  Beatrice,  at  the  proper  age, 
was  given  in  marriage  to  Messer  Simone  dei  Bardi. 
It  is  thought  that  she  was  wedded  to  him  before 
the  occasion  on  which  Dante's  love-lorn  appearance 
moved  her  to  a  mirth  which  may  have  been  feigned. 

1 88 


Still,  the  thought  of  her  continues  to  be  his  great-  Dante 
est  possession,  and  he  and  his  master,  Love,  hold  and 
many  arguments  together  concerning  the  bliss  and  Beatrice 
bane  of  this  high  fancy.     He  has  great  comfort  in 
the  general  esteem  in  which  his  lady  is  held,  and  is 
proud  and  glad  when  those  who  see  her  passing  in 
the  street  hasten  to  get  a  better  view  of  her.     He 
sees  the  controlling  power  of  her  loveliness  in  its 
influence  on  those  around  her,  who  are  not  thrown 
into  the  shade,  but  brightened,  by  her  radiance. 

Such  virtue  rare  her  beauty  hath,  in  sooth 

No  envy  stirs  in  other  ladies*  breast; 

But  in  its  light  they  walk  beside  her,  dressed 

In  gentleness,  and  love,  and  noble  truth. 

Her  looks  whate'er  they  light  on  seem  to  bless ; 

Nor  her  alone  make  lovely  to  the  view, 

But  all  her  peers  through  her  have  honor,  too. 

Dante  was  still  engaged  in  interpreting  the  merits 
of  Beatrice  to  the  world  when  that  most  gentle 
being  met  the  final  conflict,  and  received  the  crown 
of  immortality.  His  first  feeling  is  that  Florence 
is  made  desolate  by  her  loss.  He  can  think  of  no 
words  but  those  with  which  the  prophet  Jeremiah 
bewailed  the  spoiling  of  Jerusalem  :  "  How  doth 
the  city  sit  desolate!"  The  princes  of  the  earth, 
he  thinks,  should  learn  the  loss  of  this  more  than 
princess.  He  speaks  of  her  in  sonnet  and  canzone. 

The  passing  of  a  band  of  pilgrims  in  the  street 
suggests  to  him  the  thought  that  they  do  not  know 

189 


Dante  of  his  sweet  saint,  nor  of  her  death,  and  that  if 
and  they  did,  they  would  perforce  stop  to  weep  with 
Beatrice  him :  — 

Tell  me,  ye  pilgrims,  who  so  thoughtful  go, 

Musing,  mayhap,  on  what  is  far  away, 

Come  ye  from  climes  so  far,  as  your  array 

And  look  of  foreign  nurture  seem  to  shew, 

That  from  your  eyes  no  tears  of  pity  flow, 

As  ye  along  our  mourning  city  stray, 

Serene  of  countenance  and  free,  as  they 

Who  of  her  deep  disaster  nothing  know  ? 

Oh  !   she  hath  lost  her  Beatrice,  her  saint, 

And  what  of  her  her  co-mates  can  reveal 

Must  drown  with  tears  even  strangers'  hearts,  perforce. 

On  the  first  anniversary  of  his  lady's  death,  as 
he  sits  absorbed  in  thoughts  of  her,  he  sketches 
the  figure  of  an  angel  upon  his  tablets.  Turning 
presently  from  his  work,  he  sees  near  him  some 
gentlemen  of  his  acquaintance,  who  are  watching 
the  movements  of  his  pencil.  He  answers  the 
interruption  thus  : 

Into  my  lonely  thoughts  that  noble  dame 
Whom  Love  bewails,  had  entered  in  the  hour 
When  you,  my  friends,  attracted  by  his  power, 
To  see  the  task  that  did  employ  me  came. 

Many  a  sigh  of  dole  escapes  his  heart,  he  says, 

But  they  which  came  with  sharpest  pang  were  those 
Which  said  :   "  O  intellect  of  noble  mould, 
A  year  to-day  it  is  since  thou  didst  seek  the  skies." 
190 


We  may  find,  perhaps,  a  more  wonderful  proof  Dante 
of  his  constancy  in  his  stout-hearted  resistance  to  and 
the  charms  of  a  beautiful  lady  who  regards  him  Beatrice 
with  that  intense  pity  which  is  akin  to  love.     To 
her  he  says : 

Never  was  Pity's  semblance,  or  Love's  hue 
So  wondrously  in  face  of  lady  shown, 
That  tenderly  gave  ear  to  Sorrow's  moan 
Or  looked  on  woful  eyes,  as  shows  in  you. 

To  this  new  attraction  he  is  on  the  point  of 
surrendering,  when  the  vision  of  Beatrice  rises 
before  him,  as  he  first  saw  her,  —  robed  in  crim 
son,  and  bright  with  the  angelic  beauty  of  child 
hood.  All  other  thoughts  are  put  to  flight  by 
this,  and  with  renewed  faith  he  devotes  himself  to 
the  memory  of  Beatrice,  hoping  to  say  of  her  some 
day  "  that  which  hath  never  yet  been  said  of  any 
lady." 

All  who  have  been  lovers  —  and  who  has  not  ?  — 
must  feel,  I  think,  that  the  "  Vita  Nuova  "  is  the 
romance  of  a  true  love.  The  Beatrice  of  the  "  Di- 
vina  Commedia"  is  this  love,  and  much  more. 
Dante  has  had  a  deep  and  availing  experience  of 
life.  Statesman  and  scholar,  he  has  laid  his  fiery 
soul  upon  the  world's  great  anvil,  where  Fate,  with 
heavy  hammering  and  fiery  blowing,  has  wrought 
out  of  him  a  stern,  sad  man,  so  hunted  and  exiled 
that  the  ways  of  Imagination  alone  are  open  to 

191 


Dante  him.  In  its  domain,  he  calls  around  him  the 
and  majestic  shadows  of  those  with  whom  his  life  has 
Beatrice  made  him  familiar.  For  him,  the  way  to  Heaven 
lies  through  Hell  and  Purgatory.  Into  these  re 
gions,  the  blessed  Beatrice  cannot  come.  She  sends, 
however,  the  poet  shade,  who  seems  to  her  most  fit 
to  be  his  guide.  The  classic  refinement  makes  evi 
dent  to  him  the  vulgarity  of  sin  and  the  logic  of 
its  consequences.  He  surveys  the  eternal,  hope 
less  punishment,  and  passes  through  the  cleansing 
fires  of  Purgatory,  at  whose  outer  verge,  a  fair 
vision  conies  to  bless  him.  Beatrice,  in  a  mystical 
car,  her  beauty  at  first  concealed  by  a  veil  of  flow 
ers  which  drop  from  the  hands  of  attendant  angels, 
speaks  to  him  in  tones  which  move  his  penitential 
grief. 

The  high  love  of  his  youth  thus  appears  to  him 
as  accusing  Conscience,  which  stands  to  question 
him  with  the  offended  majesty  of  a  loving  mother. 
Through  her  rebukes,  precious  in  their  bitterness, 
he  attains  to  that  view  of  his  own  errors  without 
which  it  would  have  been  impossible  for  him  to 
forsake  them.  It  is  a  real  orthodox  "  repentance 
and  conviction  of  sin"  with  which  the  religious  re 
newal  of  his  life  begins.  Tormented  by  this  cruel 
retrospect,  the  poet  is  mercifully  bathed  in  the 
waters  of  forgetfulness,  and  then,  being  made  a  new 
creature,  regains  the  society  of  Beatrice. 
192 


Seated  at  the  root  of  the  great  Tree  of  Human-  Dante 
ity,  she  bids  him  take  note  of  the  prophetic  vision  and 
which  symbolizes  the  history  of  the  church.     Of  Beatrice 
the  sanctity  of  the  tree,  she  thus  admonishes  him : 

This  whoso  robs, 

This  whoso  plucks,  with  blasphemy  of  deed 
Sins  against  God,  who  for  His  use  alone 
Creating,  hallowed  it. 

Dante  drinks  now  of  a  stream  whose  sweetness 
can  never  satiate,  and  from  that  holy  wave  returns, 

Regenerate, 
Pure,  and  made  apt  for  mounting  to  the  stars. 

It  appears  to  me  quite  simple  and  natural  that 
the  image  of  the  poet's  earthly  love,  long  lost  from 
physical  sense,  should  prompt  the  awakening  of  his 
higher  nature,  which,  obscured,  as  he  confesses,  by 
the  disorders  of  his  mortal  life,  asserts  itself  with 
availing  authority  when  Beatrice,  the  beloved,  be 
comes  present  to  his  mind.  All  progress,  all  heav 
enly  learning,  is  thenceforth  associated  with  her. 
High  as  he  may  climb,  she  always  leads  him. 
Where  he  passes  as  a  stranger,  she  is  at  home. 
Where  he  poorly  guesses,  she  wholly  knows.  Nor 
does  he  part  from  her  until  he  has  attained  the  high 
est  point  of  spiritual  vision,  where  he  sees  her 
throned  and  crowned  in  immortal  glory,  and  above 
her,  the  lovely  one  of  Heaven,  —  the  Virgin  Mother 

193 


Dante      of  Christ.     What  he  sees  after  this,  he  says,  cannot 
and         be  told  with  mortal  tongue. 

Beatrice  f 

Here  vigor  failed  the  towering  fantasy, 

But  yet  the  will  rolled  onward,  like  a  wheel, 

In  even  motion,  by  the  love  impelled 

That  moves  the  sun  in  heaven  and  all  the  stars. 

Two  opposite  points  in  great  authors  give  us 
pleasure ;  viz.,  the  originality  of  their  talent  or 
genius,  and  the  catholicity  of  their  sentiments  and 
interest,  —  in  other  words,  their  likeness  and  their 
unlikeness  to  the  average  of  humanity.  We  are 
delighted  to  find  Plato  at  once  so  modern  and  so 
ancient,  his  prevision  and  prophecy  needing  so  lit 
tle  adaptation  to  make  them  germane  to  the  wants 
of  our  own  or  of  any  other  time,  his  grasp  of  ap 
prehension  and  comparison  so  peculiar  to  himself, 
so  unrivalled  by  any  thinker  of  any  time.  In  like 
manner,  the  mediaeval  pictures  drawn  by  Dante 
delight  us,  and  the  bold  daring  of  his  imagination. 
At  the  same  time,  the  perfectly  sound  and  rational 
common  sense  of  many  of  his  utterances  seems 
familiar  from  its  accordance  with  the  soundest 
criticism  of  our  own  time :  — 

Florence  within  her  ancient  circle  set, 
Remained  in  sober,  modest  quietness. 
Nor  chains  had  she,  nor  crowns,  nor  women  decked 
In  gay  attire,  with  splendid  cincture  bound, 
More  to  be  gazed  at  than  the  form  itself. 
194 


Not  yet  the  daughter  to  the  father  brought 

Fear  from  her  birth,  the  marriage  time  and  dower 

Not  yet  departing  from  their  fitting  measure. 

Nor  houses  had  she,  void  of  household  life. 

Sardanapalus  had  not  haply  shown 

The  deeds  which  may  be  hid  by  chamber  walls. 

I  saw  Bellincion  Berti  go  his  way 

With  bone  and  leather  belted.      From  the  glass 

His  lady  moved,  no  paint  upon  her  face. 

I  saw  the  Lords  of  Norti  and  del  Vecchio  content, 

Their  household  dames  engaged  with  spool  and  spindle. 

The  theory  of  the  good  old  time,  we  see,  is  not  a 
modern  invention. 

Dante  inherits  the  great  heart  of  chivalry,  wise 
before  its  time  in  the  uplifting  of  Woman.  The 
wonderful  worship  of  the  Virgin  Mother,  in  which 
are  united  the  two  poles  of  womanhood,  completed 
the  ideal  of  the  Divine  Human,  and  cast  a  new 
glory  upon  the  sex.  Can  we  doubt  that  knight 
and  minstrel  found  a  true  inspiration  in  the  lady 
of  their  heart  ?  A  mere  pretence  or  affection  is  a 
poor  thing  to  fight  for  or  to  sing  for.  Men  will 
not  imperil  their  lives  for  what  they  know  to  be 
a  lie. 

This  newly  awakened  reverence  for  woman  — 
shall  we  call  it  a  race  characteristic?  It  was  a 
golden  gift  to  any  race.  Plato's  deep  doctrine  that 
all  learning  is  a  reminiscence  may  avail  us  in  ques 
tioning  this.  The  human  race  does  not  carry  the 
bulk  of  its  knowledge  in  its  hand.  Busy  with  its 

195 


Dante 

and 

Beatrice 


Dante      tools  and  toys,  it  forgets  its  ancestral  heirlooms, 
and         and  leaves  unexplored  the  legacy  of  the  past.     But 
Beatrice  in  some  mystical  way,  the  treasures  lost  from  re 
membrance  turn  up  and  come  to  sight  again.      In 
the  far  Caucasus,  from  which  we  came,  there  were 
glimpses  of  this  ideal  wife  and  mother. 

This  history,  whether  real  or  imaginary,  or  both, 
suggests  to  me  the  question  whether  the  love  which 
brings  together  and  binds  together  men  and  women 
can  in  any  way  typify  the  supreme  affections  of  the 
soul  ?  That  it  was  supposed  to  do  so  in  mediaeval 
times  is  certain.  The  sentimental  agonies  of  trou 
badours  and  minstrels  make  it  evident.  Even  the 
latest  seedy  sprout  of  chivalry,  Don  Quixote,  shows 
us  this.  Wishing  to  start  upon  a  noble  errand,  the 
succor  of  oppressed  humanity,  his  almost  first  requi 
site  is  a  "lady  of  his  heart,"  who,  in  his  case,  is  a 
mere  lay  figure  upon  which  he  drapes  the  fantastic 
weaving  of  his  imagination. 

Another  question,  like  unto  the  first,  is  this, — 
whether  the  heroic  mode  of  loving  is  or  is  not  a 
lost  art  in  our  days. 

That  Plato  and  Socrates  should  busy  themselves 
with  it,  that  mystics  and  philosophers  should  find 
such  a  depth  of  interest  in  the  attraction  which  one 
nature  exerts  upon  another,  and  that,  per  contra,  in 
our  time,  this  mystical  attraction  should  flatten,  or, 
as  singers  say,  flat  out  into  a  decorous  observance 
of  rules,  assisting  a  mutual  endurance  —  what  does 
196 


it  mean  ?      Is  Pan  dead,  and   are  the  other  gods  Dante 
dead  with  him  ?  and 

In  an  age  widely,  if  not  deeply,  critical,  we  lose  Beatrice 
sight  of  the  primitive  affections  and  temperament 
of  our  race.  Affection's  self  becomes  merged  in 
opinion.  We  contemplate,  we  compare,  we  are  not 
able  to  covet  any  but  surface  distinctions,  surface 
attractions.  Even  the  poets  who  give  us  the  ex 
pression  of  a  lively  participation  in  human  instincts 
are  disowned  by  us.  Wordsworth  is  chosen,  and 
Byron  is  discarded,  We  are  not  too  rich  with  both 
of  them.  Inspired  Browning  —  for  the  man  who 
wrote  "  Pippa"  and  "  Saul"  was  inspired  —  loses 
himself  and  his  music  in  the  dismal  swamp  of  meta 
physical  speculation.  Just  at  present,  it  seems  to 
me  that  the  world  has  lost  one  of  its  noblest  lead 
ings  ;  viz.,  the  desire  for  true  companionship. 
Arid  love  of  pleasure,  more  arid  worship  of  wealth, 
paralyze  those  higher  powers  of  the  soul  which 
take  'hold  on  friendship  and  on  love.  To  know 
those  only  who  can  advance  your  personal  objects, 
be  these  amusement  or  ambition ;  to  marry  at  auc 
tion,  going,  going,  for  so  much, —  how  can  we  who 
have  but  one  human  life  to  live  so  cheat  ourselves 
out  of  its  real  rights  and  privileges  ? 

Is  this  a  pathological  symptom  in  the  body 
social,  produced  by  a  surfeit  in  the  direction  of 
inclination  ?  One  might  think  so,  since  asceticism 
has  no  joylessness  comparable  to  that  of  the  blasted 

197 


Dante      roue  or  utter  worldling.     In  France,  where  the  bent 
and          of  romantic  literature   has   been  the  following  of 
Beatrice  inclination,  —  from  George  Sand,  who  consecrates 
it,  down   to   the    latest    scrofulous   scribbler,  who 
outrages  it,  —  on  the  banks  of  this  turbid  stream 
of  literature,  one  constantly  meets  with  the  apples 
of  Sodom.    "  There  is  no  other  fruit,"  say  the  ven 
ders.     "You  cultivate  none  other,"  is  the  fitting 
reply. 

The  world  of  thought  is  ever  full  of  problems 
as  contradictory  of  each  other  as  the  antinomies  of 
which  I  just  now  made  a  passing  mention.  The 
right  interpretation  of  these  riddles  is  of  great 
moment  in  our  spiritual  and  intellectual  life.  The 
ages  and  aeons  of  human  experience  tend,  on  the 
whole,  to  a  gradual  unification  of  persuasion  and 
conviction  on  the  part  of  thinking  beings,  and  much 
that  a  prophet  breathes  into  a  hopeless  blank  ac 
quires  meaning  in  the  light  of  succeeding  centuries. 
This  great  problem  of  love  continues  to  be  full 
of  contradictory  aspects  to  those  who  would  explore 
it.  We  distinguish  between  divine  love  and  human 
love,  but  have  yet  to  decide  whether  Love  absolute 
is  divine  or  human  ;  for  this  deity  is  known  to  us 
from  all  time  in  two  opposite  shapes,  —  as  a  destruc 
tive  and  as  a  constructive  god.  He  unmakes  the 
man,  he  unmakes  the  woman,  sucks  up  precious 
years  of  human  life  like  a  sponge,  sets  Troy  ablaze, 
maddens  harmless  lo  with  a  stinging  gad-fly. 
198 


On  the  other  hand,  where  Love  is  not,  nothing  Dante 
is.  Luxurious  Solomon  praises  a  dinner  of  herbs  and 
enriched  by  his  presence.  All  poetry,  all  doctrine,  Beatrice 
is  founded  upon  human  affection  assumed  as  essen 
tial  to  life,  nay,  as  life  itself;  for  when  love  of  life 
and  its  objects  exists  not,  the  vital  flame  flickers 
feebly,  and  expires  early.  In  ethics,  social  and  re 
ligious,  what  contradictions  do  we  encounter  under 
this  head !  From  all  inordinate  and  sinful  affec 
tions,  good  Lord,  deliver  us  !  is  a  good  prayer. 
But  how  shall  we  treat  the  case  when  there  are  no 
affections  at  all  ?  We  might  add  a  clause  to  our 
litany,  —  From  lovelessness  and  all  manner  of  in 
difference,  good  Lord,  deliver  us  !  What  more 
direful  sentence  than  to  say  that  a  person  has  no 
heart  ?  What  sin  more  severely  punished  than  any 
extravagant  action  of  this  same  heart  P 

These  wonders  of  lofty  sentiment  and  high  im 
agination  are  precious  subjects  of  study.  The  con 
struction  of  a  great  poem,  of  which  the  interest  is 
at  once  intense,  various,  and  sustained,  seems  to  us 
a  work  more  appropriate  to  other  days  than  to  our 
own.  I  remember  in  my  youth  a  fluent  critic  who 
was  fond  of  saying  that  if  Milton  had  lived  in  this 
day  of  the  world,  he  would  not  have  thought  of 
writing  an  epic  poem.  To  which  another  of  the 
same  stripe  would  reply  :  "  If  he  did  write  such  a 
poem  in  these  days,  nobody  would  read  it."  I  won 
der  how  long  the  frisky  impatience  of  our  youth 

199 


Dante     will  think  it  worth  while  to  follow  even  Homer  in 

and         his  long  narratives. 

Beatrice  More  than  this  sustained  power  of  the  imagina 
tion,  does  the  heroic  in  sentiment  seem  to  decrease 
and  to  be  wanting  among  us.  Those  lofty  views 
of  human  affection  and  relation  which  we  find  in 
the  great  poets  seem  almost  foreign  to  the  civiliza 
tion  of  to-day.  I  find  in  modern  scepticism  this 
same  impatience  of  weighty  thoughts.  He  who 
believes  only  in  the  phenomenal  universe  does  not 
follow  a  conviction.  A  fatal  indolence  of  mind  pre 
vents  him  from  following  any  lead  which  threatens 
fatigue  and  difficult  labor.  Instead  of  a  temple 
for  the  Divine,  our  man  of  to-day  builds  a  com 
modious  house  for  himself,  —  at  best,  a  club-house 
for  his  set  or  circle.  And  the  worst  of  it  is,  that 
he  teaches  his  son  to  do  the  same  thing. 

The  social  change  which  I  notice  to-day  as  a 
decline  in  attachments  simply  personal  is  partly 
the  result  of  a  political  change  which  I,  for  one, 
cannot  deplore.  The  idea  of  the  state  and  of 
society  as  bodies  in  which  each  individual  has  a 
direct  interest  gives  to  men  and  women  of  to-day 
an  enlarged  sphere  of  action  and  of  instruction. 
The  absolutely  universal  coincidence  of  the  real 
advantage  of  the  individual  with  that  of  the  com 
munity,  always  true  in  itself,  and  neither  now  nor 
at  any  time  fully  comprehended,  gives  the  funda 
mental  tone  to  thought  and  education  to-day.  The 
200 


result  is  a  tendency  to  generality,  to  publicity,  and  Dante 
a  neglect  of  those   relations    into  which    external  and 
power  and  influence  do  not  enter.     The  action  of  Beatrice 
mind  upon  mind,  of  character  upon  character,  out 
side    of  public    life,  is   intense,  intimate,  insensi 
ble.     Temperament  is  most  valued  nowadays  for 
its  effect  upon  multitudes.     We  wish  to  be  recog 
nized   as   moving   in   a  wide    and    exalted   sphere. 
The  belle  in  the  ball-room  is  glad  to  have  it  re 
ported  that  the  Prince  of  Wales  admires  her.    The 
lady  who  should  grace  a  lady's  sphere  pines  for  the 
stage  and  the  footlights.     Actions  and  appearances 
are  calculated  to  be  seen  of  men. 

I  say  no  harm  of  this  tendency,  which  has  en 
franchised  me  and  many  others  from  the  cruel 
fetters  of  a  narrow  and  personal  judgment.  It  is 
safe  and  happy  to  have  the  public  for  a  final  court 
of  appeal,  and  to  be  able,  when  an  issue  is  mis 
judged  or  distorted,  to  call  upon  its  great  heart  to 
say  where  the  right  is,  and  where  the  wrong.  But 
let  us,  in  our  panorama  of  wide  activities,  keep 
with  all  the  more  care  these  pictures  of  spirits  that 
have  been  so  finely  touched  within  the  limits  of 
Nature's  deepest  reserve  and  modesty.  This  me 
diaeval  did  not  go  to  dancing-school  nor  to  Har 
vard  College.  He  could  not  talk  of  the  fellows 
and  the  girls.  But  from  his  early  childhood,  he 
holds  fast  the  tender  remembrance  of  a  beautiful 
and  gracious  face.  The  thought  of  it,  and  of  the 

2OI 


Dante  high  type  of  woman  which  it  images,  is  to  him 
and  more  fruitful  of  joy  and  satisfaction  than  the  amuse- 
Beatrice  ments  of  youth  or  the  gaieties  of  the  great  world. 
Death  removes  this  beloved  object  from  his  sight, 
but  not  from  his  thoughts.  Years  pass.  His 
genius  reaches  its  sublime  maturity.  He  becomes 
acquainted  with  camps  and  courts,  with  the  learn 
ing  and  the  world  of  his  day.  But  when,  with  all 
his  powers,  he  would  build  a  perfect  monument  to 
Truth,  he  takes  her  perfect  measure  from  the  hand 
of  his  child-love.  The  world  keeps  that  work,  and 
will  keep  it  while  literature  shall  last.  It  has  many 
a  subtle  passage,  many  a  wonderful  picture,  but  at 
its  height,  crowned  with  all  names  divine,  he  has 
written,  as  worthy  to  be  remembered  with  these, 
the  name  of  Beatrice. 


202 


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LD21-35m-8,'72 
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General  Library 

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